The Perks of Being a Wallcrawler
by Geekasauruz
Summary: Being a superhero sounds pretty cool, right? If you answered 'yes', then you'd probably be correct...unless you're talking about Peter Parker. In that case everybody hates you, life sucks, and nothing ever goes according to plan because doing the 'right' thing sometimes means sacrificing what you want most; does that also mean the amazing girl in his college class?
1. One

_**Author's Note: **This story is part of a Marvel series that I'll be writing, and is based off a mixture of the comics and the movies. Basically, my favourite parts from both. So, if something's different to how you remember it from the movies, then it's likely inspired off the comics :)_

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**_Chapter One: The Girl with Meatballs in her Hair_**

Roger Norton was a nose picker. Now, this might not sound like essential information, but when you're stuck in an elective lesson on literature from the 16th century, something as meaningless (and unhygienic) as a grown man picking his nose was a godsend. Roger, who was almost broader than his own desk and at least twice Peter's height, would whittle away the hours with a large sausage finger shoved up his nasal cavity. He'd push it around, forcing the Columella to stretch in compensation for this sudden intrusion, then yank it out again with a fresh booger that he'd then wipe on the bottom of his chair.

He even walked around campus like this. As if nose-picking was all he was ever meant to do with his life. Peter had once considered warning him that if he fell he might poke his brain out, but it struck him that losing intelligence was not something that Roger was worried about.

Thankfully for Peter's sanity, Roger wasn't the only distraction to be found within those dull grey walls. Another came in the form of a small girl on the other side of the classroom. Annabelle Lee. Her hair was the color of fallen leaves; sleek with the first rain of autumn. For those of you that are less poetically inclined, this means that her hair was brown - and it was twisted into two buns that sat on either side of her head, like two big dumplings...or meatballs. Peter's stomach growled at the thought.

_What he wouldn't give for a plate of Aunt May's spaghetti right about now._

Annabelle's eyes didn't seem to help either. They were like two glasses of freshly filtered water. Not the poor excuse for a beverage that lurked in a tap. It made Peter's throat itch dryly, begging for something to quench the first signs of dehydration.

Okay, this wasn't usually how he'd describe a girl that he found relatively attractive, but he was starving. Upon arriving at the campus he'd been ten minutes late for class, meaning that he was unable to retrieve his daily dose of university-grade cafeteria food.

Peter slumped further into his seat with a glum expression, trying not to be overwhelmed by his own hunger as he glanced back over at Belle. She wasn't his usual type, that he could admit. His ex-girlfriend Mary Jane had once been his vision of a perfect woman; amazing body, bedroom eyes, amazing body, long red hair, and, not to mention, such an amazing body. Instead of MJ though, who flaunted the whole 'could turn you into a drooling heap if you stared too long' aesthetic, Annabelle catered more towards the 'watching movies at home with takeout and five adopted dogs' kind of look. As Peter grew older, he found that the latter was becoming more and more appealing.

Momentarily, the young genius found himself lost in the rhythmic swing of Annabelle's earrings. They were shaped like two sunny-side up eggs; the yellow yolk perfectly rounded within the white border. Peter hadn't eaten eggs in years now...not since he moved into his run-down apartment in probably the worst neighbourhood in New York. Not only would he likely burn the entire building down if he were ever to even attempt flicking the stovetop on, but he didn't have a cent to his name. Honestly, one cent would have been a massive improvement.

"Mr. Parker?" The highly distinguishable voice of his teacher, Miss Adamson, spoke. Peter immediately straightened in his chair with an inaudible gulp. The whole class was staring at him. Dozens of eyes all peering at the same spot, as if he had just spontaneously combusted. Peter wished that he had. It would have been preferable to the embarrassment.

"O-Oh, ah, yes?" Peter stuttered. Then inwardly cursed himself for it.

"Could you read the next passage for us? Or do you need time to catch up." She teased knowingly, resulting in a few rather loud snickers of amusement. Peter rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and Miss Adamson sighed. "Please pay attention from now on. We're on Act 2, Scene 1, Page 9. Read the first line from Petruchio out loud."

Peter fumbled with his copy of Shakespeare's 'The Taming Of The Shrew', rushing through the pages so fast that, had he been a lesser man, he would have given himself at least five paper cuts when he finally found the right passage. He could feel Belle's filtered water-like eyes on him, and that certainly wasn't helping his confidence. "So, you want me to read it now?"

"Unless you've got something better to do, Parker." The teacher quipped, folding her arms over her chest and tapping her index finger on her elbow impatiently.

Peter cleared his throat. There was something stuck in it. Like saliva or nerves...or an entire apple core. It was hard to know which.

"You lie, in faith; for you are called plain Kate, and bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst." Peter managed to speak without his voice completely failing him. "But Kate, the prettiest, Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, take this of me, Kate of my consolation." Peter grimaced. How many times could this guy use the word 'Kate'? The more he was forced to say it, the weirder it sounded. He assumed that this man, whoever he was, was speaking about the same person...but Peter was so lost that it sounded like he just had a ton of girlfriends all with the same name. "Hearing thy mildness praised in every town. Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded. Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs. Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife."

The good news was that Peter had managed to read all of that without fail, and Miss Adamson was satisfied enough to move her attention elsewhere, the bad news was that he had no idea what he had just said. Seriously, literature wasn't his strong suite at all. He could create a web that was strong enough to swing him across the city, but also that degrades within the hour, but when it came to things like poetry and old dudes writing about women called Kate he was at a total loss.

It didn't help that he was tired as well. Much too tired to even pretend to know what was going on. Peter hadn't slept in a full 48 hours, and his eyes were struggling to pry themselves back open every time he blinked. Between university, his low paying lab assistant job, and his other job, there wasn't much time for rest.

Peter thought that, maybe, he could close his eyes for a few brief moments but then the screeching of chairs against tiles pierced his sensitive ears. He forced his eyes back open, only to see the class beginning to file out. They did so silently, as if small pieces of their souls had been consumed by Shakespeare. Peter could relate.

With a exasperated sigh, Peter clumsily reached over to regather his books. In his exhaustion, however, he only succeeded in pushing them off his desk. They fell with a crumpled 'bang' that stabbed at Peter's dwindling self-confidence. He had super-human reflexes and Spidey-sense but he still managed to constantly drop his stuff on the ground...

Peter took a few seconds to glare at the handful of papers, debating with the idea of leaving them there and hoping to find them again next week. That's when a pair of ink-stained hands started gathering the books for him. It didn't take long for him to realise who it was. The bumble bee shaped ring on her index finger gave it away, and the pen smudges that lined her fingers.

Peter dared to glance upward, and was met with Annabelle's bubbly smile. She placed the messy pile of folders and books back onto Peter's desk and spoke "You look tired, Pete. You should get some sleep."

Her voice wasn't like the melodic ring of bell chimes, nor the gentle whistle of an ocean breeze, or anything else that someone like Shakespeare might describe. It was lower than most women, and raspy. The exhilarating ripple in her voice was more akin to wild tonic in the rain...or something like that. No, actually, that didn't make any sense at all.

"Y-Yeah, but doesn't Shakespeare have that effect on everyone?" Peter joked with a sleepy grin, one that quickly disappeared with Belle's reply.

"Not me. I think he's a genius."

Damn it, Peter! You could have just nodded your head and thanked her for the concern, but instead, you had to be a smart ass...

Peter's internal scolding might lead one to think that his luck with women was very limited, but that analysis wasn't entirely accurate. The truth was that Peter Parker had absolutely no luck at all with them. Not even enough to warrant it being limited. Ever since his break up with MJ, he seemed to be an eternal on-sale item in the dating market that everybody bypassed for the fancier merchandise.

Peter chewed on his bottom lip, immediately attempting to retract the statement, but that only made him feel worse. "You do? M-Me too! I mean his plays are a little long...and there's a lot of big words but, yeah, once you get past all that it's alright."

"Big words?" Belle cocked her head to the side, and those two buns jostled ontop of her head. "Aren't you a science major or something? I would think that big words are a way of life for you."

Well, that was true enough. Peter could read every word within these literary works, but the problem was that he just couldn't comprehend what they were trying to tell him. It was all so...open, and Peter's brain didn't do well with anything other than straight facts and set rules. "Yeah...I suppose. I just always struggled in English, big words or not."

Belle's eyelashes, long and darkened by light wisps of mascara, grazed against her cheeks as she looked down to the books Peter had previously dropped. Right on the top was a massive publication of 'Advanced Biophysics By Doctor Curtis Connors'. "Is this for your course?"

Peter laughed somewhat nervously. "Nah. I'm taking Chemical Engineering. That's just some light reading."

"That's what you call light?" Belle chuckled. "You couldn't pay me to read all of that, especially if it's about that kind of stuff."

Obviously, she had the complete opposite problem; a brain that could easily decipher a novel and follow iambic pentameter, but that would drown in a world of science. Belle re-secured her bag onto her shoulders. It often tried to slide down her arms because she adjusted the straps too widely. Once she had completed that hourly task, she started sauntering towards the exit. She brought a hand up to wave at him. The nails were short and uneven; proof that she had a habit of biting them. "Get some sleep, Pete."

"Th-Thanks!" He called to her, gathering his books with much less force than before and shoving them into his backpack. He stumbled over to the door, catching view of Belle as she skipped down the hallway.

Once she had vanished from sight, Peter dug into his right pocket and pulled out his phone. It was an old Nokia with dents littering its surface and, despite the notion of these phones being indestructible, he had broken the screen in almost four different places. He had one text from Mary Jane, who he'd managed to stay friends with even after the break-up, and a missed call from his Aunt May. He wanted to dial back, but he was so tired that he couldn't even will himself to open the text.

Arriving home to his small apartment was like a blessing from God. His bed was calling his name, like a seductive mistress draped in fine silks and paid her weight in gold. The only difference was that his blankets were definitely not silk. They were old, stained by various things that Peter couldn't even recall, and in desperate need of washing. Also, he wouldn't be able to afford a mistress. Just last week he wanted to get a two dollar packet of crisps from the vending machine...and was twenty cents short. Scratch that, he was still twenty cents short.

He really needed to organise more Spider-Man pictures for the Daily Bugle so that he could finally afford those chips.

Chucking his backpack onto the pile of trash that littered his floor (seriously, there was barely any 'floor' left beneath the dirty clothes), Peter collapsed onto his mattress with a sigh of absolute bliss. He thought he'd never feel the calm of sleep dwindling over his mind again. He was so close...so so close to falling into the deepest slumber of his life. Then a noise from the deepest reaches of Hell pierced his ears. Police sirens.

"No..." Peter whined, tossing back and forth on his creaking bed. "No no no no no!"

It took every single ounce of strength that Peter had left to slide off his bed, and even more to find his Spider-man costume in his pigsty of a room. As if hoping it had been magically cleaned during his absence, Peter brought it up to his face and sniffed. His entire expression scrunched into revolt, but there was no time to dwell on the disgusting odour. He swiftly threw his clothes off, letting them join the plethora of others discarded around the apartment, and tugged the costume on.

"Alright, pull yourself together." Peter muttered to himself, slapping each cheek a few times to ensure that he didn't fall asleep on the spot. "Crime doesn't sleep, and neither do you. You're spider-man...spider's don't sleep. I mean, I don't think they do. Damn, it's really sad that I don't know that. Even sadder that I'm talking to myself about it."

Shaking away the sleep that still threatened to overwhelm him, Peter rushed over to his small not-so-cold fridge. The inside was like a grocery store aisle dedicated to only energy drinks and nothing else...except for one stray bottle of mustard that some kid didn't put back. Peter grabbed the yellow condiment and poured some into his mouth. Gross. Either this mustard was out of date (which was very unlikely) or man was simply not meant to fulfill the curiosity of drinking it. He reached in to grab an energy drink, throwing the mustard to the back of the fridge and sculling his beverage.

It only took two very large sips before the can was empty and he chucked on the ground with everything else. He had to mentally praise Johnny Storm for always keeping energy drink stocked up at his house...and for sharing it with Peter whenever he asked because there was no way in hell he'd be able to afford it himself. Maybe next time he could snag a few cartons of two-minute noodles as well...

With the delicious thought of chicken broth swirling in his brain, Peter yanked the mask over his face and jumped out of his window. One swift press of his middle fingers against the device strapped to his palm summoned a long rope of web fluid, one that latched onto the much nicer apartment block next door. It sent him swinging through the streets of New York, following the familiar noise of sirens.

It didn't take long for him to push past the cop car that had alerted him of the crime and stumble across the scene. A few lowly criminals had been robbing the richer parts of the city, and much to Spider-Man's delight, he had arrived there before the police.

The webslinger jumped into the groups path. There were six of them, but only two looked to pose any real threat. "I don't suppose you're going to come quietly?"

The largest man in the centre bared his teeth in typical villain fashion, and that was enough to assume that he had been the mastermind behind this small string of robberies. "Get him!"

Spider-Man shrugged. "Didn't think so."


	2. Two

**_Chapter Two: A Day in the Life_**

The burglars didn't put up much of a fight, but what really mattered was that they had tried their best. Truly. It was inspiring to watch them keep trying to hit Spider-Man, knowing very well that he was too fast for all of them. Peter had to give them a few pity shots just to make them feel a little better about the loss. He could imagine them now, cooped up in their cell, insisting that they had landed a punch to Spider-Man's jaw. It gave them a false sense of hope that was likely unhealthy, but still made them feel as if they hadn't been completely floored in the fight. Which they had been. Pretty badly.

Upon retiring into his civilian clothes; which consisted of a hole-ridden shirt and a pair of his Uncle Ben's old sweatpants, Peter was plagued by one small question. Did spiders really sleep? What had started out as a simple distracting thought had turned into a curiosity that consumed his mind. Peter was halfway through googling the answer when he remembered that he still hadn't replied to MJ's text...actually, he hadn't even looked at it yet.

Peter swiftly closed the internet tab and opened his messages. The text from Mary Jane was short and simple, but sent dread through Peter's core; 'Where are you?' Damn it. He had promised to meet her at the cafe/burger place on Houston street, aptly called 'Burgatori'. It had been her idea, but that name alone was enough to make Peter want to eat there.

With a hitch lodging itself in his throat, Peter quickly texted back and rushed to their meeting place. He wasn't proud of the amount of laws he broke in his rush to get there; including jaywalking and ignoring the red crossing lights. He had almost gotten hit by a grand total of four cars before he finally made it to the small cafe, immediately spotting Mary Jane through the window. The red hair was a dead giveaway...and the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous. That probably helped as well.

Peter stumbled into the building, almost tripping over his own two feet as he dashed towards her table. "Sorry, were you waiting long?"

MJ's lips quirked upward and she feigned looking at her watch. "Just one hour and thirty minutes. Not too bad considering how late you usually are."

"I'm really sorry..." The man's voice was sincere, but it always was. There was never a moment in his life that he wasn't sorry, but he continued to do those things regardless. That was probably part of the reason they broke up. Peter slid into the chair opposite to his ex-girlfriend, trying not to look at her for too long; as if she were the sun, and any direct glance might temporarily blind him. "I had-"

"You had things to take care of." Mary Jane finished for him, leaning back in her seat and shrugging. "I know, tiger. You always do."

Peter pouted, staring at the mahogany table and analysing the cracks in its surface. She was always very understanding of his situation, but his role as Spider-Man had also been the very thing that tore them apart. All he could offer her was a mask, and Mary Jane deserved much better than that.

This didn't stop him from loving her though. Even as she moved on he felt like he was being left in the distance, doomed to admire her from afar. The pain got a little easier to live with every day, but it would take a little longer for him to detach his heart from hers. "How's Eddie doing?"

"He's good. Working hard, but always manages to find time for me." Mary Jane smiled gratefully at his inquiry. She had been dating Eddie Brock for about six months now. Peter wasn't a fan of him, personally, but it seemed to be going well for her. "And what about that girl you told me about? The one in your class?"

Peter's fingers tapped against the table anxiously. He did have a small soft spot for Annabelle, but he had only mentioned her because MJ kept hounding him about getting 'back on the horse'. Peter had never understood that expression. What did a horse have to do with dating? He hated horses. They smelt funny and bucked him off whenever he tried getting close. "She's alright, I think."

"You think?" Mary Jane raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, and Peter was entranced by how graceful she could be with just that small shift in expression. "Do you, like, talk to her at all?"

"Y-Yeah, I do. It's just that..." Peter trailed off with a sigh. "You know how I am... How I get when I'm around someone that I like. I immediately lose fifty brain cells or something."

Peter could vividly recall the first time he tried to talk to MJ. Ironically, there was no talking at all on his end. Just a bunch of weird sounds that replaced any words he might have wanted to say. Also, he had dropped a bowl of steaming hot soup on her favourite dress. It wasn't a proud memory.

"You just overthink things." Mary Jane said with a sympathetic smile. "Be yourself. That's all you have to do."

"Thats easy for you to say." Peter huffed. She was a model. Everyone liked her before she even opened her mouth to speak. Not everyone had that luxury, or that amount of self-confidence. Outside of his suit, Peter still felt like that loser kid that no one would sit next to on the bus.

"Are you ready to order?" A man asked, breaking the conversation with the promise of food. Peter glanced up, and as he waited for MJ to order, he found himself transfixed on the waiter's moustache. It was a solid, grey millipede firmly obscuring the man's upper lip; a Village People moustache, a cowboy moustache, the miniature head of a broom that meant business. He couldn't tear his eyes from it.

"And for you, sir?" He said once Mary Jane had placed her order, but Peter's focus wasn't deterred. Perhaps this was a direct result of his lack of sleep, but either way, his mind was full of nothing but the facial hair he could never seem to grow for himself. No matter how hard he tried, his face simply wouldn't grow anything close to a full beard.

"Sir?" The waiter tried again, but to no avail.

The only other person that Peter had ever seen with a moustache like that was Mr Rollen, his maths teacher, and he collected digestive crumbs in his – Peter used to count them during algebra because he'd often finish his work before anyone else.

"Hey, you alright?" MJ's voice finally tore him out of his exhaustion-induced trance.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I'll just uh...have some water." Peter said in apparent disappointment as he remembered how utterly broke he was.

Mary Jane shook her head. "He'll have a plate of nachos and a coke. Thanks."

"W-Wait no, just water." Peter then stared daggers into MJ's face. "No...! What are you doing...?" He hissed.

Mary Jane, fluttering her eyelashes, peered at the waiter. "Nachos and coke, honey." She repeated.

The waiter nodded, then left. Peter was filled with the same guilt that he felt every time he ate out with Mary Jane. She always paid for him, but he could never repay the favour. "MJ, what the heck was that?"

"Your stomach's been rumbling ever since you got here." Mary Jane countered. She crossed her arms. Beautifully. Like a swan. Though he supposed if a swan ever crossed their wings it would look a little strange. This didn't though. So maybe not like a swan, but still very prettily. "Don't worry about it. My modelling gig pays well, if you hadn't already guessed. I can spare a few dollars."

"...But...b-but...ugh." He groaned.

The redhead smiled softly at him.

"Thanks, MJ. Really." It was all he could say. Peter wished he could give her something more substantial...something special like a shooting star or a copy of Albert Einstein's actual notes when he was figuring out the theory of relativity. Maybe that sounded a lot more romantic to Peter than it would to her though.

The cafe slowly filled, and their conversation jumped from one topic to the next. She asked about Aunt May, he told her that she was doing well, but in reality she was buried in debt. She was too old to get a job and she couldn't keep up with the payments. Still, he pretended as if she were living a comfortable life. The one that Peter wished he could give her.

Then, their drinks came. Apparently this cafe was one of the only places to bring them out with the food, and not a full hour beforehand. Peter hated when they did that. He'd smash through several drinks before ever touching his meal. There were two waiters this time. One with the beverages, who turned to serve the other customers after placing them on the table, and another with the food.

"Nachos?" A familiar voice spoke and Peter froze. With a regrettably audible gulp, he let his gaze wander upward. There he saw her, Annabelle, with her weird hair and ridiculous stockings that sported images of ladybugs on them. She was always the most colourful person in the room, with a clothing style that somehow sat between a small child's and a sixty year-old's.

He leaned his elbow against the table. Was that lame? It was cool in those eighties movies Peter frequented, but had 'cool' changed with the times? Did he look like a loser? Peter quickly removed his elbow.

"Th-That would be me." He managed to say, watching the girl's face light up in realisation.

"Pete? Fancy meeting you here." She chimed, placing each dish on the table in front of them. Her attention turned to Mary Jane, and her grin only brightened. "You must be Peter's girlfriend."

Peter, who had taken a large gulp of coke to ease his dry throat, almost spat it all back out again. Thankfully, Mary Jane was much better at social interaction than he had ever been. "Easy, we're just two friends catching up. How do you know Peter?"

She already knew, because Peter had already told her, but the sly glint in her eye made him believe that this was no coincidence. Somehow, MJ had known that Belle worked here.

"We're in the same literary studies class." Belle answered cheerfully.

Peter continued sculling his drink, as if it might hide him from the conversation. He imagined that it was a super powerful serum that might turn him completely invisible, so that the embarrassed flush starting to rise on his cheeks would remain unnoticed.

"Literary studies?" MJ turned to Peter, and that was when he realised that he had, in fact, not turned invisible. "Aren't you studying Chemical Engineering?"

"...I needed an elective and it was the only thing on offer that fit my schedule." Peter said lowly.

Noticing Peter's growing unease, Mary Jane drew her attention once more to Belle. For the first time, she finally noticed Annabelle's choice of fashion. As a model, and a passionate follower of clothing brands, it was surprising that it took her this long to actually look. Belle wore a fuzzy jumper that gave her the appearance of an emu, or a baby sloth. Her hair was woven with clips that any little girl would be envious of, and her shoes were covered in glitter.

"Those are nice." MJ said, pointing to the footwear. It wasn't clear whether she was being serious or not. "Where'd you get them?"

"I don't know. Thrift shop, probably." Belle said with an obvious lack of interest in such things, turning to show the heels that held a large insect within them. "It has spider's in the back. I thought they were real so I got them."

Mary Jane smirked. "Nice. Peter hates spider's, don't you?"

Peter narrowed his eyes at the redhead. Did she enjoy watching him get stressed out?

"That's a shame. I don't think they're too bad." She replied, despite the fact that she was literally wearing them in the heel of her shoes. Dead ones. Always stepping on them . "I need to get back to work, but it was good to meet you."

Annabelle left, the same skip in her step that she always possessed. God, she looked like a crazy woman; a meatball haired, fuzzy jacketted, ladybug stocking wearing lune. He loved it.

"Well, she's-"

"Weird?" Peter finished her sentence with a raised eyebrow.

"Quirky." MJ corrected. "I was going to say quirky."

Well, she wasn't wrong. That was probably the kinder way to say it.

One would assume that, in any normal situation, Peter would have sat there and cleaned his plate. Talking to MJ about life until they both agreed to leave. Unfortunately, Peter's life was anything but normal. He had only managed to eat half of his nachos when the sound of screaming filled the air. Outside the window people were running away from something, and MJ sighed at the sight. "Go gettem, tiger."

She had only blinked, but when she looked back to where Peter once was, he was gone. Mary Jane wasn't surprised. She was used to it.


	3. Three

**_Chapter Three: Crikey, Mate!_**

The Kangaroo was one of Spider-Man's deadliest enemies. Now stop laughing, it's very true. Well there was that one time where Peter thought the villain had gotten himself blown up or something, but hey, it turns out he didn't get blown up. Seeing as he isn't blown up, The Kangaroo is going around Midtown kicking down secure vault doors with his rippling thigh muscles and proceeding to loot whatever materials he could fit into his pouch. He has a pouch now. It's new.

Spidey stumbled upon the scene of a forced entry after hearing the alarms go off from a couple blocks away. With quite the astounding level of acrobatic finesse and ballerina-like grace, Peter spun through the air after releasing from his previous web swing and went barreling through the hole that had been kicked through the bank's front wall.

After a ludicrous double front flip, he landed in a low crouch in the bank's lobby. "Hey! I think the bank's closed now! So you should...probably come back later!" He called into the darkness.

"No...no...! For God's sake...I just got outta jail...!" A very obnoxiously Australian voice snarled from the distance. Seconds later, the Kangaroo came stomping out with a massive angry frown on his middle-aged face. "I'm gonna clock ya one, mate."

"Yeah, please don't. I'm chronomentrophobic."

There was silence as Peter stood with his hands planted proudly on his hips, staring expectantly at the Kangaroo who, quite frankly, seemed to be as confused as most people were when Peter started using words with more than four syllables.

Peter said "It's...it's a fear of clocks. Because...because you were gonna...you know. Clock me."

"Why does everyone around 'ere like you?"

"They don't." Spidey replied, pointing both fingers at The Kangaroo.

Peter snapped a hand forward and shot a web net outward at the Kangaroo, who due to his spectacular lower body strength, managed to bound into the air and evade the shot like...like a Kangaroo.

Suddenly, as Kangaroo came barrelling down with Spidey in his sights, who was witnessing his life flash before his very eyes in the wake of his foe's tremendous power, a car tire flew from out of sight and struck the Australian criminal in the forehead. He was pushed backward by the 'wheelie' effective strike. Peter watched in amazement as Kangaroo's landing turned into a crash landing, face scrunched in confusion.

"Was that...a tire?"

"Yeah. Someone just threw a tire at me." Kangaroo said in disbelief.

At the entrance to the bank, or more so the hole in the front of it, stood a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a black jumpsuit that was also black with black highlights. Her face was covered by a domino mask.

"Hey, did you just attack this guy with a tire? A tire?"

The woman shrugged "I dunno, fuck off."

"Oh. Uh. Okay." Peter said in confusion.

Kangaroo shook his head and made a mad dash for Peter, who was predictably warned by his Spider Sense. Like really, what else was going to happen? The Kangaroo was going to kill him? Come on. I think we all know how these stories play out by now...

Peter wove free of the tackle, webbed his Australian foe, swung him around in the air, then released. The criminal went crashing into a row of wooden seats in the far side of the bank.

Peter dusted his hands off and looked back at the costumed woman "Alright, I have this under control...uh...whatever your name is. What is your name?"

The woman cocked her head with a smile that told Peter that he had just made her day by asking her name. He knew the next part would not be good. "I'm Protonslaught."

Peter squinted. Kangaroo could be heard yelling things like 'struth' and 'fair dinkum' because, was it ever mentioned, he was Australian.

"You know. It's proton and onslaught put together."

"Yeah don't worry. I got that part." Spidey reassured lowly.

"Why weren't you laughing?"

"Because I'm not ten years old?"

"Whatever, Jizz-Hands Man."

Peter scoffed in disgust. "Ew."

"You shoot white stuff out of your hands."

"Hey it doesn't come out of my hands. It comes out of these gadgets I made."

"Oh...that's kind of stupid. You call yourself Spider-Man and you don't even make webs."

Peter crossed his arms. "Hm, maybe I crawl on walls. And have the proportionate strength of a spider. What do you do? Slaughter protons?"

The tension in the air was thick, like the skull of a person who failed to realise that Pacific Rim 2 was just a Power Rangers movie.

The Kangaroo finally broke out of Peter's webbing then pounced back over into the main lobby. "Alright, playtime's over, ya bloody idiots. You're really gonna cop it now."

Peter gestured towards the approaching foe, being a gentleman and letting the lady have a go.

Protonslaught asked "Stand back, Jizz-Hands. I've got this."

"Yes, defeating the almighty Kangaroo is going to be a cool moment. Because he's such a big threat. And Australian."

Protonslaught extended a palm and growled, sending a ferocious yellow blur soaring through the air. The Kangaroo was blinded when the unstoppable form of a mildly smelly banana peel slapped into his face. Protonslaught took a single step to the side and watched as the Kangaroo barged head-first into the marble wall behind her.

He was rendered unconscious. The Superhero nodded and clapped "Oh yeah. That's right. I kicked his ass and I made it look good."

"You...made a banana peel."

"Yeah. Like you can do that. Well you can't because you're a loser."

Peter sighed. 50% of his life was already allocated to taking this kind of treatment from Neanderthals at college; he wasn't ready for it to grow to 100%. Peter strode out to the front, leaving Protonslaught to follow. "Listen Prote, maybe you should quit while you're ahead. Yeah you beat The Kangaroo, but what happens if you run into someone dangerous like Rhino? Banana peels and tires won't cut it."

"Oh shut up you asshole. I don't need to listen to you."

The time for fun and games was over for Peter. This banana peel-conjuring clown was starting to irk him. "Look, I'm just saying. I've been doing this for like seven years. Maybe you should listen."

Momentarily, police cars pulled up at the crime scene. One of the officers emerged from his squad car and looked at Peter. "Figured you beat us to it, Spidey. What's the damage?"

"Don't worry Fred, it was just the Kangaroo."

Protonslaught flicked her hair over her shoulder and pressed her hands onto her hips. "I took him down."

The cop narrowed his eyes. "Uh. Okay. Thanks...?" He glanced back at Spider-Man. "Friend of yours?"

"No, no, no, no. Nuh-uh, nope. Just met."

The woman smirked smugly and declared "I'm Protonslaught."

"What?"

"P-Protonslaught."

The cop gave her a once over before shrugging.

Protonslaught then turned over to Peter and said "Don't call me Prote. It sounds too much like scrote. Loser."

With that, the incredibly modest and level-headed superhero hovered up, up and away, as Spidey and his police officer friend watched.

"What a very...likeable individual." Peter announced sarcastically.

"You can say that again."


	4. Four

**_Chapter Four: King of Swing_**

Johnny Storm was a daredevil by nature. He had tried almost every extreme sport known to man, and suffered at least ten near-death experiences before ever being called 'The Human Torch'. Unlike Peter, Johnny had been popular his entire life. So, as one could imagine, gaining superpowers that didn't involve being transformed into a hideous rock monster only inflated his already unbalanced ego.

Whenever Peter swung by the Baxter Building at this time of day, Johnny was more often than not just sitting around wasting time whilst Reed Richards worked away in the lab on some incredible scientific research. Peter, as much as he would drool over being able to watch the Reed Richards in his element, would always be reeled in by Johnny and his unwavering social ability.

"Yeah. I dunno about that." Peter declared as he munched on a huge mouthful of Doritos, eyes pinned on the TV.

Johnny, who was sitting on the couch with him, threw his arms up in defeat, groaned harshly "Dude, it's a movie. Give them some slack."

"Classic textbook response. That just means that I'm right and you don't have anything else to say."

"No, it means that I don't care about your stupid science and how that makes 'Aliens' a bad movie."

Peter, who was still dressed in his Spidey outfit without the mask, pointed at the screen and said "Hey, I am not saying Aliens is a bad movie. A bad movie is 'Conan The Barbarian'."

"What? Conan? Arnie Conan?"

"Yeah." Peter replied, throwing a chip into his mouth.

"Oh shut up. That movie's freaking great."

"I had no idea what was going on at least eighty-six percent of the time."

"Eighty-six? Why eighty-six?" Johnny pressed in confusion.

"Because James Earl Jones randomly transforming into a snake man was just too damn cool, so I removed four percent from the 'not knowing what the hell was happening' rate."

"You're crazy, man. Then what's a good movie?"

"Ninja Turtles. The nineties one."

"Bro."

"You didn't like that?" The wall-crawler mused in disbelief.

"It was fine but Jesus, Pete. That's a kid's movie."

"I dunno, Shredder gets thrown into a garbage truck and Casey Jones flicks the switch incredibly nonchalantly, like he wasn't brutally murdering somebody."

"Messed up shit can still happen in kid's movies. Just look at 'Hunchback of Notre Dame'. That priest dude wanted to screw that chick so he was like 'hey girl, either you screw me or I'll burn you at the stake, bro'. That's pretty damn crazy."

"Yeah I guess you're right. What was that guy's name? Frodo? Froyo?"

"I dunno. Don't really care either."

The room fell silent and the pair watched on as Sigourney Weaver waved a flamethrower around looking incredibly sweaty and tense. The crunching of Doritos in Peter's mouth and the sound of Johnny slurping soda through a straw were overlaid by the movie's audio.

"So...when you gettin' back together with MJ?" Johnny finally asked after a particularly loud gulp of his beverage.

Peter almost choked on one of the chips that he had stuffed down his throat. He knew that this subject would come up eventually, it always did with Johnny. "Can't you go one visit without asking me that?"

"Nope." Johnny smirked. "I need to know whether she's available or not."

"First of all, she doesn't date idiots." Peter started, and as expected, Johnny interrupted before he could finish his statement

"The fact that she dated you proves that wrong, Pete."

"Secondly," Peter emphasised. "The answer's the same as last time. I don't see us getting back together any time soon. We live completely different lives. It just doesn't work anymore."

"Won't that be a problem with every 'normal' girl you date?"

"This was different. She was keeping stuff from me." Peter sighed and slumped into the couch. It was the comfiest seat that he'd ever sat in, but that was of no consolation when it came to the topic of MJ. "Like she got hit on by this douchebag photographer, and lost her modelling gig because she fought back, but didn't tell me because she thought I had enough to worry about. She said that my problems were so much bigger than hers, but that's not how a relationship should work. After I found out, I realised that I was starting to do the exact same thing. We grew apart. I'll always care about her, but she requires a better man than I am."

Johnny tapped his index finger against the cup in his hand. Serious talk wasn't really his strong point. "Ah...well, it's probably for the best. She was way out of your league."

Peter shot him a glare, and the young playboy smiled nervously.

"I mean...you're out of hers?" This time it didn't sound convincing at all. It was painfully obvious that Johnny thought that Peter should have been dating some Neanderthal with limited speech capabilities and a face that looked like it had been hit by a few trucks. Not just one. A few. That was his league, apparently. That or stereotypical science girls. "Come on, man. You know she was way too hot for you."

"Gee...thanks a lot for the pep talk." Peter groaned.

Johnny rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and though the conversation should have been over, he decided to drag it on. It was one of Johnny's very limited talents. "Find a rebound yet?"

Suddenly Peter's hunched shoulder's straightened, and with a particularly annoyed stare at his supposed 'friend', Peter said "She's not a rebound!"

Of course, as is typical Peter Parker fashion, he didn't realise that his little outburst had given the answer away until it was much too late.

Johnny's grin widened at this news. "Oh, so there is someone?"

"No..." Peter mumbled, but Johnny has already figured it out. "I mean, yes, but it's not like that. I barely even speak to her."

"Alright. I need details. Name, age, and pictures. Have you added her on Facebook yet?"

"I'm not sure if she has Facebook. She doesn't seem like the type." He retorted lowly.

"Dude, everyone has Facebook." Johnny laughed. He sounded like a hyena on steroids. "Even Reed has an account, and you know how out of touch he is. Honestly, I don't know how you haven't already looked her up."

"Maybe because it's creepy and I'm not a stalker?" Peter replied, though this wasn't the full truth. He had just been so busy of late that the thought hadn't crossed his mind.

"It's not stalking, it's research." Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled out the latest mobile developed by Relint; a subsidiary company owned by Stark Industries. They developed all the boring, everyday stuff like laptops and phones, except they weren't boring at all. Unlike Peter's old and battered Nokia, Reliant mobiles were constantly developing. They came equipped with almost everything you could think of. Johnny passed this extremely expensive phone to Peter. "Log into your Facebook."

Peter hesitated to take it. Everything he ever touched seemed to break. That wasn't an exaggeration. There was a reason that he always refused to hold people's babies. "Why not just log into yours?"

"I got banned...temporarily."

Peter wished that he could say that this came as a surprise, but it really didn't. Johnny was completely unfiltered. He said whatever came to his mind, offensive or not, and had such a hunger for fame that he did terribly stupid things just to stay in the limelight. Once Peter even had to convince him out of the disturbing idea to star in an adult film... That's why Peter didn't ask why he got banned. He didn't want to know. Instead, he complied with Johnny's request and swiftly handed the mobile back to him before it got the chance to slip from his fingers.

"That wasn't so hard, right?" Johnny mocked as his eyes scanned Peter's homepage. It was probably the saddest thing he had ever seen. The feed was bombarded with science pages; the first picture of a black hole, and information on new elements being added to the periodic table. Even worse was that he only had fifteen friends. Two of which were taken up by MJ's old and new accounts. Another was his Aunt May, and his childhood friend Harry Osbourne. The rest were random people from his Chemical Engineering classes. "Wow...I'd hate to see your Twitter."

"I don't have Twitter."

"Of course you don't." Johnny shook his head, and instead focused on finding Peter's new flame. "So, what's her name?"

Peter had the sudden urge to lie, just to shorten this experience by as much as possible...but any name he came up with, statistically speaking, was likely to belong to a few hundred people. Sifting through those would take even longer. "Annabelle Lee."

Johnny made a visibly amused expression at the out-of-date name, but typed it in regardless. Peter scooted closer and peered at the screen curiously. There was a relatively surprising number of results, but only two within New York. One was a woman of fifty-two, and unless she had some miracle de-aging cream, he doubted that was her.

The second profile had a picture that made Johnny do a double take, and Peter laugh so loudly that Reed Richards could hear it from two rooms over. It was a severely altered screenshot of Captain Kirk. Not the Chris Pine version, the original William Shatner one.

"Is...that her?" Johnny managed to choke out.

"I sure hope so." Peter said between chuckles. MJ had never been a fan of Star Trek, which was fine, but the original series held a special place in Peter's heart. He used to watch it with his Uncle Ben.

Upon clicking onto her profile, they both found that she had no real pictures of herself. It was filled, instead, with a plethora of memes. In her information section it said that she attended the same college as Peter, and was majoring in Literature.

"Yeah. That's gotta be her."

"Oh, so she's just as weird as you are." Johnny raised an eyebrow, still trying desperately to find a picture of her. It was no use. She wasn't even tagged in anything. "Alright. Plan B. Where does she work?"

"No." Was Peter's quick response. "That's not happening."

"Never mind. She has it on her Facebook." Johnny grinned mischievously. "Burgatori. Sick. They have some awesome fries."

"Johnny..." Peter pleaded. He had already been tricked there by MJ a few days ago. If he went again it might look like he was following her or something. Peter panicked at the thought. "We're not going."

—————————-

Peter stood outside of Burgatori with a frown. This wasn't a good idea, but Johnny had basically forced him to throw some civilian clothes on and dragged him out the door. He even threatened that, if Peter didn't tag along, he would tell Annabelle about that time that he ate too many Doritos and puked all over Johnny's five hundred dollar jeans. It didn't occur to Peter that Johnny still didn't know what Annabelle looked like until they had already arrived.

"Alright, just follow my lead. I've done this tons of times. You go up to her, snap your fingers," He demonstrated, and a small flicker of fire hovered over his fingernail. "and say, 'Flame on, baby'."

Peter narrowed his eyes at his moronic friend. "Yeah, except I'm not you."

"But you get the point, right?" Johnny insisted. "Just lift up your shirt, show her that iconic blue and red suit, and watch her fall for you."

"Are you crazy?" Peter whispered harshly. "If the wrong people find out who I really am, then it'll put everyone I love in danger..."

Johnny shrugged. "Everyone knows who I am and it's worked out pretty well for me."

"That's because almost everyone you care about has powers." Peter argued back. This subject always got him riled up, especially with Johnny who had absolutely no idea what it was like to be responsible for the safety of others. "Your sister's the Invisible Woman, your brother-in-law is Mr. Fantastic, your roommate's The Thing, and your ex-girlfriend's Nova! MJ's powers begin and end with her looks, and my Aunt May is really good at praying. That's it. They can't fend against the people that I fight."

Johnny exhaled heavily. "Fine, calm down. There are ways to do this without revealing that you're the king of swing."

Peter's nose scrunched up, as if he'd just watched someone blow a spit bubble. "Ew. Don't ever call me that again."

Johnny smirked, like the douchebag that he was, and said "Which one is she?"

For the first time since they had arrived, Peter dared to glance across the road. It didn't take long to spot her. She was wiping down a few tables whilst speaking to a couple of elderly diners. She was wearing a fuzzy polka-a-dot jumper, sparkling stockings, and a skirt that fell modestly below her knees. Her hair didn't look like meatballs today. It was, instead, wrapped around her head in a moderately long plait; like a crown of brown hair.

Peter pointed in her direction, and though she was in plain sight, Johnny squinted. "Where? I don't see anyone."

Peter huffed. "She's right in front of you."

Johnny gave an exaggerated shrug. This was the moment that Peter truly knew that his friend was an idiot. "All I see are a few old people and-..." He cut himself off and stared even harder in Belle's direction. "No...please tell me that's not her."

Peter's frown only intensified at his words. "What do you mean?"

"Pete, she dresses like my great grandma. Actually, I thought she was my grandma. My dead grandma. I mean, you seriously downgraded from MJ."

The young scientist's jaw clenched, but he didn't want to cause a scene with Annabelle so close by. "You really are an asshole."

Johnny crossed his arms, still staring at the smiling girl. "Well, on the bright side, she shouldn't be too hard to pick up."

Peter swallowed the insults that he wanted to hiss at Johnny for teasing someone like Annabelle. He wanted to retaliate, but that would only draw more attention to them...and Peter was feeling anxious enough as it was. "Whatever, if you don't like her then that's probably a good sign. Means she's actually respectable."

Without even trying to defend himself, or the many women he'd been with, Johnny sauntered across the road. Peter noted that he didn't wait for the pedestrian lights to turn green.

Each step brought Johnny Storm closer to Peter's crush. He could hear her speaking to some old folks about prehistoric music that he had never heard of; like 'Little Richard' and 'The Beach Boys'. Despite this, and her obvious lack of fashion, Johnny found himself thinking that perhaps Peter wasn't completely crazy for liking her. Upon closer inspection she had a fairly decent face; big blue eyes and a smile that lit them up like two distant stars in the reflection of an ocean. Her passable appearance was buried though beneath uncountable layers of weirdness.

Johnny cleared his throat, straightened his posture and sported the usual panty-dropping smile. "Hey, baby."

Annabelle whipped around, much like a Meerkat caught in headlights, just as she was beginning to clear a ketchup bottle from one of the many tables. She paused for a second, allowing her mind time to register who she was seeing. It wasn't long before she realised that it was the Human Torch.

Then a noise emanated from her throat that I, as the narrator limited to the shallow medium of text, can not replicate with necessary fidelity. It was somewhere between a screaming goat and a dying cat. Subconsciously, she squeezed the sauce bottle grasped in her hands. Ketchup splashed all over Johnny's designer jacket.

"O-Oh my god!" Annabelle gasped in absolute horror at her own actions. She swiftly placed the sauce bottle back down on the table, to which it swayed from side to side before completely toppling over, and then reached for a bundle of wipes. She immediately started rubbing at the red saucey stain, but it only seemed to be making it worse. "I'm s-so sorry Mr Torch, sir."

Johnny, quite frankly, was in shock. Not only had his custom made jacket been smeared with a sticky condiment, but she was now trying to scrub it off with an alcohol wipe; something that was clearly only embedding the stain into his clothing. Still, Johnny knew that Peter was watching and that the web-head would get way too much joy out of watching him lose his cool. So, he tried one more time. A last ditch effort to flirt with the clueless woman. "Uh, you can...call me Johnny. Don't worry about the stain, I'm sure it'll come out..."

"Jesus Christ almighty, I can't believe I did that." The girl gulped in clear mortification, ceasing her attempts to clean off the ketchup. The wipe was pink now, and full of holes from the force she had used. That stain definitely wasn't coming out. "I really am so sorry Johnny Torch...I m-mean, Human Johnny...I mean-"

The man finally put his hand up to silence her. Annabelle's painful babbling was too much for even him to bare. Fearing that speaking again might trigger another flurry of words to escape the clumsy waitress, he turned on his heels and slunked back over to Peter. It was hard not to see the beam of laughter that was threatening to burst onto his face.

"So..." Peter said in a strained voice, trying desperately to keep his amusement at bay. "How'd it go?"

Johnny's expression was unreadable, but that tended to happen when your favourite thousand dollar jacket was destroyed. "She's...perfect for you."

With that, he left. Without so much as a goodbye. Johnny's mind was too preoccupied on finding a dry cleaner and asking them about sauce stains. At his departure, Peter's gaze fell back onto Annabelle who looked absolutely humiliated. Her head was in her hands, and her entire body seemed to shrink into itself. It was almost as if she were internally wishing to be swallowed up by the ground.

Seeing Belle so distressed tugged a few familiar chords inside of Peter's chest. He knew exactly how she felt. There was rarely a day that went by when Peter didn't make a fool of himself.

The previous fear of speaking to her slowly vanished, and instead he could think of nothing more than cheering her up. So he stepped towards the restaurant and picked up the ketchup bottle that had fallen over. "Umm...this yours?"

Annabelle's entire expression seemed to cringe at the sound of someone speaking to her after what had happened, let alone a person that she knew from college. Belle turned with pained eyes and carefully took the condiment from Peter's hands. "Y-You saw all of that?"

"N-No..." Peter lied, but it was obvious that she didn't believe him. "I mean, yeah, but it's not a big deal. Johnny's a jerk. He'll live."

Though he had intended to ease Annabelle's stress, it only heightened it. "You're friends with the Johnny Storm? Oh my god, did I embarrass you in front of him? Or him in front of you? Or me?... I embarrassed everyone, didn't I? Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. What am I going to do? I'll never live this down."

Belle was cute when she swore, Peter noticed, but he quickly reminded himself that this wasn't the time to be admiring his wreck of a crush. She was panicking, and the whirlwind of words coming from her mouth only became longer, and faster, and closer together. The solution was clear. Peter had to outweigh her embarrassment with his own. It was the only way. A sacrifice to be made for the good of mankind...or to erase the severe frown on Annabelle's face, which was basically the same as saving everyone on the planet because if she wasn't smiling then how was the sun going to get its light?

Well, the technical answer was through a nuclear reaction called fusion; as atoms of hydrogen combined to form helium, they produced vast amounts of heat and light...but it would probably help if Belle was smiling. It certainly couldn't hurt the process.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I've done a lot worse." Peter said in a hushed tone, as if this were a secret that he was entrusting to her. "Once I ate too many Doritos and puked on his jeans. He smelt like cheese for the rest of the day. The stain's still there. At least now he has a jacket to go with it."

Annabelle's mood immediately appeared to shift from self-pitying guilt to surprise. "You did?"

Peter tried not to regret his decision of telling her. It was embarrassing, but it at least gave her a break from the shame she had felt. "Yeah. I never know how many Doritos are too many until after I've already finished the whole packet. Johnny tends to steer clear of me whenever I eat around him now."

There was a moment, however brief, in which the remnants of a smile flickered onto Belle's face. She had a pretty smile. Prettier than even MJ's. "I've...done that too."

That sentence suspended in the air around them. Peter stared at her, searching for any indication that this was a lie, but he knew that it wasn't. Honestly, who the hell would lie about something like that anyway?

"You've gone into Dorito overload as well?" Peter asked, just to confirm that he had heard her correctly. She nodded, and Peter fell into awe. She liked Doritos. She liked Doritos so much that she'd vomited from eating too many. If there truly was a god, you know...besides Thor, then this was substantial evidence that he existed.


	5. Five

**_Chapter Five: The Pumpkin King_**

Imagine this, a young pair of university students kicking back on the couch eating Doritos until they puke and watching 'Hercules in New York'. Arnold Schwarzenegger's first movie ever by the way. It was terrible. He was terrible. So terrible in fact, that they dubbed him over with some other guy because you could barely understand a single word he was saying. It's true, you should look it up. Anyway, that image was perfect, at least it was for Peter who had been staring at Anabelle Lee for a solid minute or so.

The woman in question furrowed her brow, and Peter was sent into one of his all too common panics. Was he being creepy? Well, he hadn't spoken for exactly 95 seconds which seemed a few seconds too long for a normal, 'not creepy' conversation. He could try and say something now...but then it would sound awkward and forced and Anabelle would probably move away to some secluded island just to ensure that she never endured his awkwardness again.

Suddenly, as if acting in direct response to Peter's pathetic internal prayers, there was a rumbling that seeped through the ground which was accompanied by the sound of a tremendous explosion. Peter, feeling blessed by this act of divine intervention, glanced over his shoulder towards the direction of the commotion.

The young man was then patron to a whirling roller coaster of emotion as his feeling of relief was instantaneously replaced by an eye-widening call to arms; a maniac riding a broomstick trailed through the sky, hurling explosive pumpkins at the street below. The gut-wrenching assumption made by Peter that this was the Green Goblin was also quickly denied when he spied that this guy's head was a flaming pumpkin. The latest climb in Peter's erratic emotional journey was the realisation that this criminal, the Jack O'Lantern, was a complete loser and sucked real bad so he could easily punch his ass into next week and come back in time to stare at Anabelle some more. Not in a weird way. Obviously. Because Peter Parker was not a weird guy, no siree.

His bug-eyed gaze shot back to Anabelle as he declared much too loudly in a stressed tone "UM I HAVE TO GO CATCH MY BUS."

Anabelle instantly blurted "I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. I...I DON'T KNOW WHY I TOLD YOU THAT."

"COOL. SEE YOU LATER."

"BYE."

Peter took off like a proverbial lightning bolt because yes he was fast, but he wasn't Quicksilver fast and still had to maintain the meticulous illusion that he was a loser science nerd with the physical capacities of a six year-old. Once he rounded a corner into an alleyway, he leapt onto the wall and scaled it like...well...a spider. You didn't come here for creativity, you came here for SPIDERS.

Speaking of spiders, it took the blink of an eye for the eternal loser Peter Parker to re-emerge as the Spectacular Spider-Man. This time it's Spectacular. Next time maybe Friendly-Neighbourhood or Amazing. He kept a list of the ones he liked. The wall-crawler leapt off the rooftop and rocketed straight for the path of an incoming pumpkin bomb. Using his trusty trigger fingers and far-too-extensive knowledge of physics, Spidey fired a web line at the explosive device, twirled it once, then let it go off into the sky.

A split second later, the bomb detonated in a cloud of red embers. "I thought the giant flaming pumpkin head was cool but stealing the pumpkin bomb thing was a bit much. I mean you're the second person to try ripping ol' Gobby off."

Jack O' Lantern ceased his flight path and took this time not to actually throw some more bombs at the webhead, but instead engage in a super-villain speech. "You...! I've been waiting for you, Spider-Man!"

"I feel like we know each other a little too well for you to be calling me by my full-name. It's a little...overly formal. Spidey is fine."

"I don't care! I've finally got you where I want you! And by the way, the pumpkin bombs were just a coincidence!"

With that, the living Halloween decoration hurled another bomb at Spidey, who simply rinsed and repeated his last tactic with ease. The bomb exploded harmlessly in the sky. "Oh. So you designed the head first, then just went with it without making sure it wasn't too similar to someone else? I mean...I could've called myself Ant-Man but I actually did some research. Well, that would've been kinda stupid because I was bitten by this crazy radioactive spider thing."

"How the hell was I meant to know that Green Goblin and Hobgoblin made their bombs look like pumpkins? That makes no sense! What links goblins and pumpkins?!" Jack once again attacked Peter with a thrown bomb.

At this point, Peter was getting a bit tired of this. He threw the stupid bomb away, then said "You know, that's a good point. What's up with that?"

"Well they're both pretty SPOOKY." Said a woman's voice at Spidey's side.

Peter glanced at the source of the stupid remark and was forced to sigh in exasperation. "Why? Why is it always you? And with the losers I can fight on my own?"

Wow, what a surprise, it was Protonslaught! Who could've guessed, considering the fact that she was introduced not that long ago, left pretty quickly, and had conflict with our webbed hero that could be used for the build-up of dramatic tension? She kinda just stood there proudly for a second before saying "You could not take this guy. You suck."

Jack nodded in approval as he floated with the aid of his broomstick. "Yeah man, you suck!" He snarled.

Peter shook his head. "What is this, the Daily Bugle? I get enough of this crap every other day of my life. You know what? Screw this."

With that, with one thrust of his legs, he propelled himself three storeys into the air to match Jack's height, reached out and violently snatched his satchel of pumpkin bombs. In another swift motion, Peter tossed them into the nearby river, spun and kicked Jack in the face.

Those bombs, since they were totally just ripped off from the Hobgoblin's ones, weren't designed to work in water. The circuitry would get all soupy and short out, meaning that this wall-crawling hero just engaged in some explosive ordnance disposal. Before he landed , Spidey sent out a web line, swung on it, and zipped into Jack with a punch.

This blow sent the bad guy zooming backwards on his broom. Peter landed atop a streetlight, bracing for when Jack would recover from these blows and return the favour.

However, Spidey's trusty ally Protonslaught had other ideas. As the webspinner stared down Jack, he saw a plastic bag slowly but surely drift up from the street and gently fall onto his face. Peter, in utter disbelief, glanced down at the woman. "...Seriously, what do you even do?"

"Shut the hell up, you inbred asshat!"

If it wasn't for his Spider-Sense, Peter may have been struck in the head by the suddenly-appearing bowling ball that zipped mere inches away from his face. In outrage, he threw his hands up in the air as the bowling ball totally smashed some random dude's car window. "Hey! What's the matter with you?!"

"What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you!?" She called back.

The thing is, Peter's Spider-Sense worked most of the time. Sometimes, if he was distracted, it would feel like it came on a little too late. Oh, why is this information being relayed to you right now at this seemingly random interval, you say? Because this was one of those times, silly.

A blinding light consumed Peter's vision, and a hot mess of an impact slammed into his chest. Seeing as his costume provided no real protection and was a glorified onesie, whenever Spidey sustained damage in a fight, it was always a testament to his superhuman durability that he didn't die for not wearing some padding at the very least.

He was propelled off the streetlight with velocity that would've broken bones in any human person, and into the brick wall, behind him. Peter, despite the pain he felt, managed to latch onto the surface and recover within seconds. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Spidey simply splashed a layer of webbing right into Jack O'Lantern's eyes and resumed his berating of Protonslaught.

"Hey. You seriously need to knock this off. If I was anybody else, I could've died from that." Peter scalded.

Protonslaught had her attention on the stream of pebbles, streamers, apples, rubber balls, branches, and crow bars that poured forth from her hands and bounced off Jack's writhing form. "Just shut up for a sec, I'm trying to focus here."

If he'd been the kind of person that maybe didn't respect the responsibility that came with great power, it was probable that he would've dropped down there and punched that chick in the face. But of course, he had a lot of respect for responsibility.

Biting his tongue, Peter just zipped back towards Jack O'Lantern and laid a hefty jab onto his face. With a scream, Jack snapped backwards as his helmet cracked from the force. Spidey perched onto Jack's broomstick and was ready to finish this fight...until his Spider-Sense went off again.

Using a great deal of his physical strength, he wrenched the broomstick to the side, sending both he and Jack O'Lantern spinning away from whatever his sixth sense was warning him about.

As they spun free of the danger, Peter's eyes widened when they fell onto...a tree. A massive, thick oak tree that sprouted out of the concrete. At its base was Protonslaught, who was scratching her head.

Spidey glanced into the sky and his heart stopped dead. This tree seemed to grow to full size instantly...meaning that if Protonslaught materialised it underneath something, it was launched into the sky with incredible force. Peter saw a car spinning in the air, and heard terrified screams in the distance. "Oh my god!" Spidey gasped.

Before he could throw himself into action, Jack, like the sneaky, honourless scumbag he is, thrusted a concealed blade into Spidey's gut. The pain landed up Peter's side, but he didn't stop for a second. He pushed Jack's blade outward, then dropped off the broom.

The wallcrawler fired a web strand from each hand, both latching onto buildings on opposite sides of the street. He pushed backwards, stretching and tensing the webs. Then, using them as a slingshot, Peter was fired through the sky like a missile, with the car growing in size upon his approach.

In less than a second, he slammed against the top of the vehicle and affixed himself to it. Now is where more of his seemingly useless physics knowledge came in handy. Right then, the occupied car was spinning out of control; the motion was shaking the people inside around like clothes in a dryer, so they could get hurt real bad. All Peter had to do was apply a counterforce depending on which direction the car was spinning, and he could negate this tumble which would make it safer for the guys inside, and also make it easier for him to catch it before it hits the ground.

The webhead scurried over the side of the sedan and onto the bottom of it, all the while observing how the world around him was spinning and taking note of the growing cityscape. Spidey braced his legs and pushed off the left side of the undercarriage. This thrust sent him several metres away from the vehicle, slightly slowed its descent, and corrected its chaotic spins.

Peter somersaulted, landed on the concrete, then extended his hands into the air. "Oh boy. This is gonna hurt."

The four-door sedan dropped onto Spider-Man, who growled in pain as the impact sent him dropping to one knee. He braced the car on his back as he powered through the strain, and carefully laid it onto the road. There was a woman in the driver's seat and a man in the passenger seat; both looked understandably freaked out. "Are you guys okay?" Peter asked urgently.

They both nodded erratically, the woman muttering "Oh God...thank you, Spider-Man...!"

Peter's hands were curled into fists as he turned around and sent his attention to Protonslaught. She stared in utter disbelief; completely motionless. "I-I...didn't mean to do that."

"You're out of control!" Spidey snapped as he grasped his bleeding wound.

Jack, who finally peeled the layers of webbing from his face, interjected "What? What's going on? Are you talking to me?"

Protonslaught retorted "No, you idiot."

"Oh. Okay." Jack replied. "This is getting a little...heated. I might just...go."

As the pumpkin-headed criminal was about to zoom off with his broomstick, an unannounced blow struck the device and stunned Jack. A circular object bounded off the broom, bounced off a traffic light post, and into the trained hand of Captain America, who stood tall in the middle of the street. "Now where do you think you're going, son?"

Protonslaught clearly hadn't met anyone on Cap's level before...and you could easily tell that she was starstruck. "Holy shit, it's Captain America!" She bellowed.

Jack O'Lantern froze. He muttered "C-Captain America!? N-No, not Cap! He's gonna kick my ass!" As Jack was desperately trying to get his broomstick under control, Cap ran towards the bleeding Spidey. "Spider-Man...you need a medic?" He asked worriedly.

"I-I'm fine Cap...look, this just hasn't been my day. I should be able to turn this joker into toast...but my hands've been full."

Steve smiled triumphantly, and the gesture alone managed to help Peter out of his rut. "Hey, stow that talk. We'll finish this together." He extended a hand for a shake. Peter, the anger and frustration cooled for now thanks to Cap's naturally inspirational aura, firmly squeezed his friend's hand.

This was a beautiful moment. Spidey had his favourite ninety year old super soldier to thank for steeling his resolve. So, like every other good thing in Peter Parker's life, it wasn't to last. "Holy FUCKING shit! C-Captain! O Captain!" Protonslaught cried as she came closer.

Cap's determined stare dropped into a confused glaze as the woman came to a stop inches away from him. "Foul language is the mark of a small vocabulary, miss."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. I'm just a big fan. Of freedom. A-And democracy. My favourite thing to read is the Declaration of Independence."

Peter swiftly inserted himself between Cap and Protonslaught, eyes narrowing at her. "Steve, this grade-A idiot almost got two civilians killed just now. She needs to leave and let us handle this."

"Hey shut the fuck up, Jizz-Hands Man."

"Are you serious? You got me bombed, threw a bunch of innocent people into the sky, and that's all you have to say?" Peter snarled.

Protonslaught planted her hands on her hips. "Ha! Look at that, you got stabbed."

Captain Rogers' voice boomed through the city like a clap of thunder "That's enough." For the first time since Peter met her, Protonslaught was made speechless. Her eyes seemed to shimmer in Cap's presence. "Whatever happened between you two, it needs to be put on hold. Right now, that maniac needs to be put behind bars. Are you going to start working together, or do I have to do this myself?"

Peter sighed, stood a little straighter, then said "I've got your back, Cap."

The Sentinel of Liberty then glanced over to Protonslaught, with eyes filled with mild annoyance. She swallowed then said "Aye, aye, Captain."

"Oh for crying out loud—" Peter started, only to be cut off by the sound of Jack's cackling in the distance.

The discount Hobgoblin was trailing off on his broomstick as he shouted "You guys suck! Oh and thanks for fighting Nazis back in World War II Cap! I'm pretty scummy but Nazis are just plain evil!"

Instantly, Cap was in his element. "Engage pursuit! I'll cut him off!" The Super Soldier scaled a nearby building by pulling himself up using windows, pipes, and fire escapes. Faster than any human could, Steve Rogers sprinted down the rooftops like a cheetah.

Peter didn't spare another second. He swung through the busy New York streets, following Jack O'Lantern's smoke trail. Soon enough, Protonslaught appeared by Spidey's side. She flew through the air with all the grace of an injured penguin.

They trailed Jack for a while, with Peter glad that he confiscated his little bag of tricks so innocent people were no longer at risk. Every now and then, Jack would peer over his shoulder and have a little panic attack whenever he saw his pursuers closing on him.

At one such moment, a man coloured much like the United States of America, threw himself from the top of an apartment block with his shield raised. The circular plate of vibranium slammed into Jack's rib cage, causing him to squeal in pain.

Cap arced down into the street and rolled to a landing. "Hit him now!" He commanded.

"I got it!" Protonslaught yelled.

Spidey felt an incredible stabbing pain in his stomach. "No, don't!!" He urged.

Protonslaught raised her hands, and instead of a nuclear warhead coming out of it, there was only a steady jet of water. The liquid sprayed over Jack O'Lantern's head, extinguishing his flame. The man hesitantly patted his head "Woah, woah, is my hair out?"

In this momentary lapse in concentration, the bewildered pumpkin man didn't anticipate the traffic light that was going to smack into his pumpkin face in less than a second. When it came, Peter winced in sympathy pains.

Jack fell from his broomstick and onto a concrete plaza with a 'crack'.

"Jesus...!" Spidey yelped, dropping out of the sky. He landed by Jack's side, eager to see whether or not the loser was dead.

Jack writhed in pain. "My back...my back..." There came a popping sound, much like stressed vertebrae clicking. "My back...! I can...still wiggle my toes so that's a good sign. Am I still...going to jail?"

"Yes." Snapped Spider-Man.

"Oh. It was worth a try."

Protonslaught hovered in, roaring triumphantly. "That's right! I beat him! You suck, Jizz-Hands Man!"

The innocent civilians in the area were...let's say appalled by her language. Captain America promptly arrived on the scene. "That was reckless and dangerous." He said, scalding Protonslaught.

"W-What?" She asked.

"You could've crippled this man for life. And apparently...you put Spider-Man and two other civilians in needless danger. You're a juvenile and, quite frankly, a liability. You need to quit while you're ahead." Lectured Rogers.

Protonslaught seemed to be hurt by these words for a second, until she blinked several times and wore a nonchalant pout. "Right. You just can't keep up, old man. Neither can you, bug-boy."

Cap's eyes narrowed. "Don't you see how careless you're being?"

"You can shove it, Uncle Sam." Growled the woman as she took off into the air.

With the adrenaline worn off, Spidey was starting to feel the aching of his injuries. Regardless, he cocked his head and said something stupid "The bar for being a superhero is getting a little low nowadays, ain't it?"

"What exactly happened?" Cap asked as he wrapped an arm around Peter and led him away from the crowd as the police arrived to incarcerate Jack O'Lantern.

"Well...first she distracted me by almost throwing a bowling ball at my head, which gave Jack a chance to throw a grenade at me. Then, she...catapulted an occupied car twenty metres into the sky by flash growing a tree underneath it. I had to catch it...and that kinda hurt. Oh and Jack stabbed me."

Steve shook his head. "Unbelievable. You need medical attention; I'll take you to Avengers Tower...give you a once over."

"N-Nah I'll be fine. I'm sure you've got more important things to deal with."

"That's an order, son. And there isn't a thing more important than looking after your own."

Peter sighed, and reluctantly agreed "...Thanks Steve...that chick just really irks me."


	6. Six

**_Chapter Six: Consider the Coconut_**

Attending college lectures sounds easy enough in theory, but there were a dozen little things between waking up and actually arriving on campus that always prevented Peter from getting there on time. Getting out of bed was the hardest part. Peter often found himself complaining out loud whenever his alarm went off...to no one but himself, of course. He lived alone after all, in a damp apartment that smelt like condensation and looked like it was a few days from falling apart completely.

Then there was breakfast, and by breakfast Peter meant two cans of energy drink that he snagged from Johnny's place. What? It was totally nutritious and absolutely not going to give him a heart attack one day. Spiders don't have heart attacks. They probably don't even have hearts at all...just a massive black hole full of evil thoughts and replacement legs in case they ever lost one. Speaking of which, Peter had noticed how spiders always seemed to lose a leg. He unfortunately saw tons of them in his apartment under all the junk that he couldn't find the time to clean up. There were seven-legged spiders, a few five-legged, and there was one with only four limbs that he had spotted just yesterday, but eight? Nope. None, and if he ever found one, losing a leg wasn't going to be their primary concern. A giant shoe to their little hairy body would be. Peter hated spiders, as ironic as that sounded.

Stepping away from the subject of small insects, and towards bugs more...human-sized; next Peter had to find the mental strength to throw on his Spider-man suit. Have you ever swung around midtown in a tight-fitting outfit fighting off horde's of bad guys? Well, the sweat tends to stick and Peter didn't own a washing machine. Yes, it was kind of gross, but people were natural slobs and Peter Parker was no exception. He was only able to clean this costume once every week or so when his Aunt May volunteered at the homeless shelter (he'd have to sneak in like some common burglar to use her washing machine). She still didn't know about his alter ego, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Peter pulled the mask over his face, internally wishing that he hadn't opted for one that covered his mouth and prevented any fresh air from reaching him, then dove out of his window. A few web-swinging seconds later and he was shooting through the winding streets of New York. His destination was a tall building right across the street from his college campus; on the roof of which he kept his school bag and civilian clothes.

Why, you may ask? Well, because walking to school like everyone else had eventually become an unrealistic task. He would always run into trouble, and when he did he'd have to find a secluded place to throw off his normal clothes and hide his school supplies. This only ever succeeded in making him even later, for both class and the ass-whooping. Carrying the bag on his back as Spider-Man was also a no-go. It would tip people off about the age group he belonged to. So the only solution was to keep his bag near the campus, arrive there as Spidey, then leave as Peter Parker.

The morning was relatively crime-free this time, though. He saw a few jaywalkers and cars that were going slightly over the speed limit; but these weren't his battles to fight. He was instead looking forward to actually arriving on time for his lecture on Chemical Thermodynamics, and then to finally attend his tutorial with Annabelle. Peter swooned in mid-air and almost forgot to make himself a new web. He swung too close to the walkway and heard a few gasps as people jumped out of his way.

"S-Sorry!" Spider-Man yelled out, waving sheepishly at the crowd who still looked relatively shocked by him almost tumbling into them.

Peter huffed, setting his sights back on the horizon. He could almost see her face fading into it like one of those memorial posters. He remembered more clearly now than ever before that she always smelled like a bakery. Not flowers, or vanilla, or any of that boring stuff. Annabelle smelt like fresh food; as if she spent her days going from place to place just eating their best dishes...or, you know, it could also be because she worked in a restaurant. Either way, she smelt good. Peter meant that in a totally not weird way, but there was no way to tell her that without sounding like a creep.

It was easy back a few centuries ago, you'd just write them some corny poem and they'd fall head over heels. Now, though, there was no way of knowing whether they'd enjoy something that cheesy, or if they were lactose intolerant.

Amidst such a riveting inner monologue, Peter almost missed the police officers standing on the side of the street; they had just set up some yellow tape around a large Palm tree that Spidey, quite honestly, couldn't remember ever seeing there before. It was like it grew overnight or something...

Like an incredibly talented ballerina, the web-head vaulted off his webline, hurtled towards a street light pole next to the cops who looked rather exhausted, then grasped himself against it. The cops all jolted when he landed and said, out of breath, "H-Hey...guys... Is everything okay?"

At that point, the wall crawler began to spy a dozen or so smashed coconuts splayed all over the floor.

The three cops glanced at each other. "Hey don't look at me, you're the ranking officer." One murmured.

This ranking officer in question, ran a hand down his face and sighed. "U-Uh...well..." He then pointed up at the palm tree. Peter turned his attention towards this vegetable monolith, and in the corner of his eye, spied an object hurtling toward his face at the speed of an average baseball pitch.

A coconut bounced off Spider-Man's head. And yes, many of you may say 'whatever, Spidey has like super durability or some shit'. Kind of. He isn't that tough. He's slightly meatier than your average guy, but that's about it. He could still stub his toe on a coffee table like every other human being, and now the arachnid had a massive bump right under his hairline.

"OW! OH GOD...OW...!" Peter whelped, sliding down the pole and onto his feet.

The lead police officer rubbed the back of his head. "Wait...aren't you meant to have that spider-sense thing?"

"It only works for life-threatening danger." Spidey explained.

"A coconut isn't life threatening? Those things can kill, man."

Peter looked back up at the palm tree and saw a figure huddled atop the leaves. "COCONUTS TO YOU!!"

Spidey looked to the floor.

"Uh...Spidey? You okay?"

The webslinger shook his head. He didn't think that he'd have to deal with something like this today. "I should've stayed in bed this morning..."

The third cop cocked his head. "So who is this guy...?"

Spider-Man sighed, and as his eyes wandered back up the unimpressive palm tree, he saw a familiar face grinning down at him from the very top. "Plantman. He...controls plants. Only ever seems to make trees though."

The ranking officer's brow furrowed. "Why's that?"

Another coconut flew passed their heads and Spider-Man exhaled heavily. "I don't know. He's insane."

"What's the hold up?" Another voice permeated through the air; Spider-Man and each of the three cops glanced in the direction it had come from. Standing there, behind the yellow tape, was the large frame of Luke Cage. He was holding bags full of groceries in either hand.

"Plantman." The webhead replied in an almost bored monotone. Not every day can be extra terrestrial battles for Earth...sometimes you just had to deal with a weirdo and his coconuts.

"Aww come on. Not again." Luke groaned in irritation and dropped his shopping on the ground. He stepped over the tape, then marched closer to the giant sapling. "Get your ass down here, Sam!"

The man in the tree ducked back under the bright green leaves and wailed "No!"

"Don't you make me come up there!"

There was a temporary silence. Peter hated those. Somehow, he always needed to burp when it got quiet. Luckily for him that atmosphere was swiftly broken when Samuel, aka Plantman, hurled another hard-shelled drupe to the ground. Luke caught it in mid-air, almost too easily, and glared up at its point of origin.

"I swear to Jesus if you don't get down here right now, I'll peg this at you so hard it'll make your head spin." Luke exclaimed even louder than before.

As entertaining as this scene was, Peter jumped back onto the traffic pole and saluted his friend's valiant attempts to stop the coconut-wielding menace. "Well, looks like you've got everything handled. I'm already late so I gotta get going."

Luke frowned, and that expression fell into outrage when he saw Peter leap over to his shopping bags and snag a pack of beef jerky from inside. "Hey! Don't you dare! That's my jerky, man."

"A-Ah sorry, I can't hear you with the...mask and everything." Peter chuckled anxiously then sprinted away from the scene like the food stealing villain that he had become.

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have taken Luke Cage's beef jerky...but that's what being a poor college student will do to you. It makes you crazy. Seriously, Peter's seen at least twenty people have a mental breakdown in the campus library. What do you call people that are ripping out chunks of their hair and crying over massive textbooks? Crazy. Being a college student was a real condition.

Upon finally arriving at his destination, the first thing Peter did was get changed into his civilian clothes and open that jerky. He grabbed about four at once and bit into them with a groan of satisfaction. It was safe to say that Peter was in a much better mood as he strolled across the road with that packet in his hand. He had most definitely missed his lecture, but that tutorial with Annabelle was probably still within reach.

He rushed to building 5, room 20, and managed to find a seat right next to the door so that barely anyone noticed him coming in. Peter leaned against the back of his chair and took a large inhale through his nose; pleased to have finally made it almost on time for a class. Now the only task remaining was to find Annabelle and waste the hour away just staring at her. Again, not in a creepy way. If there was one thing that Peter Parker wasn't, it was creepy. Right? Right.

He scanned the room, mostly trying not to appear too suspicious. There was one girl biting her nails, and a guy that looked either asleep or dead; but no Annabelle. Now that he got a closer look, he didn't recognise anyone in this room...not even the professor.

"UFO sightings happen all over the world," The tutor said in a voice akin to pork crackling, don't ask how, it just was. "but today we're going to break that down and ask ourselves 'what else could it be?'. A cloud formation, a test missile, or are aliens really visiting us?"

Oh god, no. This wasn't his class, it was 'Close Encounters of a Multidisciplinary Kind'. A unit that Peter had always thought was absolutely and completely ridiculous. I mean, of course aliens are real. Had they not heard of Captain Marvel or the Kree? It wasn't even an argument anymore, and yet some people still insisted on maintaining the belief that it was all an illusion. It was usually slated right after his literature class. This was when he finally, for the first time that day, let his eyes wander up to the clock on the opposite wall. His expression fell into disarray. He wasn't just late...he had missed his lesson entirely.

To add salt to this fresh wound, as he tried to sneak back out of this classroom, he kicked his shoe against the metal leg of his desk and earned the attention of every single person. Their beady little eyes stared at him like dozens of beetles. That was his cue to sprint away, hearing the loud snorted laughter of the students left behind. He ran for so long that in no time at all he was off his main campus, and dashing towards the less prestigious college next door.

Suddenly, without any warning from his so-called 'Spidey-sense', he tripped and went crashing down the pathway. He didn't know how to explain it. One moment he was running, with his shoes pounding against the ground, and the next he was in mid-air with his arms flailing around like a confused and flightless goose.

"Have a nice fall, dickwad?" The voice of the dumbest person in the universe spoke, and Peter wasn't surprised to turn around and find Flash Thompson standing behind him. His foot was sticking out slightly, almost guaranteeing that he had been the one that tripped Peter.

Peter sighed but didn't bother getting back up from his new home in the asphalt because Flash would likely just push him back down; and he'd have to pretend like he couldn't dodge it. Peter didn't understand why his senses hadn't warned him about this. How did they not perceive Flash as a threat?! He was massive! I mean, absolutely ginormous by normal mortal standards. He was a jock, after all, and not to use stereotypes...but he only got into college because of his football scholarship.

Peter had thought that once he got into college that he'd be rid of Flash, only to discover that his High School bully had been accepted into the university next to his...that may sound like a once in a lifetime coincidence, but it was just the Peter Parker luck. Nothing ever went right. He did manage to somehow keep hold of his beef jerky though...that was a positive.

Flash left with a laugh that boomed around Peter, almost as if it had been playing on loud speakers just to taunt him. The science major waited on the ground for the jock to vanish out of sight, but before he could jump back to his feet a slender, ink-stained hand reached out towards him. Peter choked on the air from his own lungs. He'd recognise that hand anywhere.

"That guy always trips you when you go this way." Annabelle said in her husky tone. "Are you alright?"

Peter glanced up in humiliation. He had wanted nothing more than to see her today...but not like this; with his face buried in the concrete and a lump on his head from that damned coconut. Peter was reluctant, but he certainly wasn't going to miss the opportunity of holding her hand in a completely natural setting.

Perhaps a little too eagerly, he grabbed her hand and heaved himself back upright with a goofy grin on his face. Her touch felt like it was destroying and remaking the atoms around him; like it could either kill him or give him life...or some other poetic rubbish. Who cares. Her hand was holding his, and Peter was so giddy with excitement that every ounce of intelligence had fled from his mind. Truly, it had. If someone were to ask him what Chemical Engineering was at this moment, he'd probably tell them that it was a cooking major or something.

"Uhh...Peter?" Annabelle's brow furrowed and Peter's heart hammered like that of a teenage girl at a Finn Wolfhard concert...he was a singer, right? Peter hadn't been too involved in the latest music trends or tv shows. All he knew was that young girls really liked him.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Peter internally sulked as Annabelle moved her hand away. "I'm fine. How was class? Did I miss anything?"

"We were just talking about one of the readings." Annabelle shrugged as if this unit was the easiest thing in the world to her. "A Midsummer Night's Dream. Have you finished it yet?"

Peter gulped nervously. He hadn't even bothered to look at the primary readings, but he wasn't about to tell her that. Especially not after discovering her passion for Shakespeare. "Of course. It's a work of genius."

"Isn't it, though? I love how he uses his poetic language to create melodramatic moments that both reinforce and mock the play's central theme of romantic love." Annabelle's eyes lit up at the subject... God, how was Peter meant to concentrate when she looked at him like that? "We spoke specifically about Oberon's scene in act 2. 'Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.' It's beautifully written, how he reveals his tender feelings for the queen even as he plans to manipulate and humiliate her."

Okay, if Peter's mind was blank before then it was practically nonexistent now. He had no clue what she was talking about, but she smelt like cheesecake today and that must've been more important than anything else. Her hair was twisted into about eight small top knots, and her dress was blindingly yellow with hand drawn flowers and puppies. People stared at her as if she'd escaped from a mental institution.

"What do you think about it?" Annabelle suddenly asked and this managed to snap Peter out of his daze, then right into a quiet panic.

"Uh... I think it's really cool how, yeah, he's gonna betray her and stuff." Peter mentally cursed himself for not just telling the truth. It was too late for that now though. "Basically everything you said."

Annabelle blinked. Shit! She knew he was lying, didn't she? No one blinks like that without suspicion. Who even blinks anymore anyway? He was caught. It was over. She'd never even look at him again. "Yeah? Cool."

Peter's breath hitched. That was it?...okay, well maybe he had overreacted a little.

"I've got to get to work, but it was nice seeing you Pete. Don't skip class next week." Annabelle waved, and the colourful bracelet around her wrist jingled.

"O-Oh I didn't-" Before he could even get the words out she was gone. "skip..."

Peter finally let out the breath that he had been holding in, then as if for some poorly constructed plot device, his mobile vibrated in his pocket. Peter fumbled to get it out, and when he did it took a further minute or so to get the damn thing to stop glitching. The name 'Harry' flashed across his screen and Peter scrambled to open the message.

It had been far too long since he'd heard from his best friend, and he had started to worry. There were a few times that he had even dropped in at Harry's penthouse but he was never home. The text read 'Sorry, Pete! Been a bit busy. Oscorps been working me to an early grave. I got a day off today though. Come over.'

That sounded more like a demand than a request, but it had never been possible to refuse Harry of anything anyway. One of the showcases of growing up rich, Peter supposed. Not that it mattered. Peter was all too happy to visit him in his massive home full of expensive food, a personal chef, and old pinball machines. After all, what are friends for?


	7. Seven

**_Chapter Seven: This is Garbage_**

Anything more than a one-room apartment was a mansion to Peter Parker. So whenever he set foot inside Harry Osborn's penthouse, he could've sworn that he had perished and was dropped at the gates of heaven itself. There were leather chairs. Several of them, might I add. All encircling this really fancy and long wooden table that would make Peter's heart fail immediately if he was ever told how much it cost. It was wood. How expensive is wood? Any idiot off the street could nail four legs to a plank and make a table. Why should this slightly shinier one cost five hundred percent more? And that, ladies and gentlemen, was an example of how being rich was absolutely beyond Peter's understanding.

Not that he wouldn't like to be rich, 'cause he would. He'd love to spend thousands of dollars on a coffee machine as easily as his Aunt May buys groceries with coupons. He also wanted to earn it, and that was the problem. Peter was so busy being Spider-Man that he rarely had any time to focus on starting his own career...or passing college, for that matter.

Peter sported Harry pacing on the other end of the room. His best friend looked over at him, smiled, then pointed to the cell phone that was pressed against his ear. Apparently l, he was in the middle of a call. So much for having a day off...

"No problem, Clancy. We're 3 points up so that can wait until the meeting this Tuesday. I need you to round up the best marketing guys and prepare a campaign for the new projects coming up. How about Friday? Is Friday okay with you, man?" Harry chirped incredibly cheerfully into the phone.

Peter just kind of stood there, unslinging his backpack and holding it in his arms like a baby. The mild-mannered science nerd shuffled over to the way-too-big dining table and lowered himself into the nearest seat.

"How's the family? Oh yeah? So exciting, man. They grow up so fast don't they?" Harry replied with an obviously feigned amount of interest in this random dude's family.

There was this bowl of fruit on the table. Who does that? Who has a bowl of fruit on the table like that? Aside from Ikea catalogues? Why? These questions refracted across the inside of Peter's skull as he reached for an apple. However, due to the stupid table being so stupidly big, Peter's grasp extended further than he could reach. His clumsy fingers pushed down against the rim of the bowl.

The sound that followed would've been an epic drum solo if it wasn't like thirteen pieces of fruit bouncing off the table and onto the marble floor tiles. Peter's eyes widened as he curled his bottom lip inward.

Harry slowly turned to Peter at glanced at him with a look that was the exact opposite of surprised. His eyes darted to the floor, at each piece of fruit, then back at Peter. An amused smirk drew itself across his perfectly handsome face. "Uh it was nothing, Clancy. Probably a cat rummaging around in the alley outside." He quipped mischievously.

Peter would've retorted with the fact that they were currently in a penthouse about fifty storeys up if Harry's phone call wasn't very obviously important. Instead, Peter opted for gathering the plethora of spilt fruit and piling them all back into the bowl.

"Great. See you Friday." Harry said before finally tucking the mobile into his suit pocket and turning to greet his childhood friend. His radiant smile wavered slightly at the sight of the fruit bowl. "Did you just put all that dirty fruit back in the bowl?"

Peter shrugged. "Yeah?"

"That's disgusting." Harry gave an amused huff and reached over to grab the dish. "It's been on the floor, Pete."

"So? Ever heard of the five second rule?"

Harry chuckled. "It's the three second rule, actually."

"Yeah, with your bank account I suppose it is." Peter quipped with a grin. Personally, he never wasted food. Not even if it fell on the floor, or in the dirt...or even in a puddle. He would just wash it off, and in his mind it was perfectly safe to eat. That might sound disgusting, but hey, Pete was too poor to consider throwing things away. "It'll be fine. They look clean enough."

Harry shook his head in disbelief and sauntered towards the fancy bin he kept in the corner of the room. It literally opened when it sensed him stepping towards it, I mean, how cool is that? Peter was convinced that owning that bin in particular was a sign that someone had reached maximum wealth.

Peter jumped over and snatched the fruit bowl before it could be wasted. "There are starving people in Africa, man...in fact, there's starving people in this room right now. Namely me. I'll take it if you won't have it."

"Fine, but don't come crying to me when it makes you sick." Harry watched curiously as Peter wandered back over to his backpack and poured the fruit inside, resting the empty bowl back on the table afterwards. "Seriously though, are you alright? I mean money-wise? Because I'm happy to help-"

"I'm fine." Peter quickly lied. Uncle Ben had taught him from a young age to never accept something that he didn't earn; with so many wealthy friends willing to help, these morals seemed to be the only things keeping him poor...but Peter didn't mind. He preferred the idea of making his own way in life. "I don't want your money, Harry."

"I know. You never did." Harry patted his friend on the shoulder with a smile. "That's why you're my best friend, but I still want to help. I looked your apartment up on street view. It's a hole, man."

"Didn't realise you stalk people, Harry." Peter laughed.

"Well, I wanted to visit but not without knowing which area you were living in now. Remember your last apartment? I almost got mugged four times just trying to walk from my car to the door...which was parked on the curb in front of it."

Peter could remember that day all too clearly. It was a Saturday, and he was inside sketching in one of his college books (a potato with a hat, to be specific). Harry had burst in with a look of absolute rage on his face, and droplets of blood running down his clenched fist. Apparently he had knocked Peter's neighbour out cold after he had threatened Harry with a knife. Yeah... Peter moved out pretty quickly after that. "It builds character."

"Does it? Well that must be the reason you're so broke then. You're always getting robbed."

"Nah." Peter dismissed with a short wave of his hand. "Number one rule of not getting mugged; don't have anything worth stealing."

"That's a fair point. The only thing that you ever had that was worth taking was MJ." Harry gleamed mischievously, as he always did when the topic of Mary-Jane came up. "How's she doing these days anyway?"

"She's good, I think. Dating again." Peter sighed. He had moved on, for the most part, but there was still part of him that missed her. "So you've probably wasted your chance."

Harry whistled. "Man, she was so out of your league."

Okay, that was true. Completely and utterly, undeniably true. Peter still didn't understand why everyone seemed to feel the need to say it out loud though. "Gee, thanks."

Harry wandered over to one of the leather-bound sofas and gracefully rested on top of it. Peter followed suite, but when he slumped into the couch, opposite to Harry, he had all the grace of a flailing tortoise stuck on its back. "Don't take it so personally, Pete. I'm sure you've found some model-esque science nerd to follow around at college."

Peter sighed. "She's an English nerd, actually."

Harry furrowed his brow in sudden bewilderment. It was nice to know that even someone as perfect as Harry Osbourne could look as dumbfounded as everyone else. "But you hated English."

"Just because I hate the subject, doesn't mean I can't be interested in a girl that likes it. I'm not that shallow." Peter shifted in the seat in an attempt to get more comfortable. The material rubbed against his trousers and it made a sound that...well, there's no getting around this. It sounded like a fart. It wasn't though. Not this time at least. "It was the chair."

"Sure it was." Harry snickered. "So, have you asked this girl out yet?"

Peter's gaze fell to his hands. He could still feel her touch from earlier that day. Harry made it all sound so easy, but there was a reason that his relationship with MJ hadn't worked. There was a reason that it would never work. As long as he was Spider-Man, everyone he cared about would be in danger. He didn't want to add Annabelle to that list. "I'm just...trying to focus on college at the moment. I'm working for Dr. Connors every now and then as well, just a lab assistant type deal. I don't really have time for that stuff."

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Harry's expression had darkened and twisted into something all too familiar. Peter gulped. He knew what was going to happen next, he just wished that they could get through one visit without it coming up. "So you're not following that costumed whack-job around anymore?"

"Not exclusively, no." Peter's head pounded with the beginnings of a massive migraine. Somehow, every conversation they had nowadays ended up right here; on the subject of Spider-Man.

"But you're still doing it?"

"Only when I need the money." Peter pushed himself out of the chair, trying not to meet his friend's eyes as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. He hadn't been there very long, but he couldn't stay if this was what they were going to be discussing.

"How can you take photos of that sack of shit?!" Harry's voice reached new volumes, and it echoed throughout the large penthouse just to torture Peter even more. "He killed my dad!"

"You don't know that for sure, Harry."

"Yes I do. I saw him. I know he did it." He snapped back with a low growl. "Why don't you believe me?!"

Harry's distress hurt, and a deeply buried memory of Norman Osborn's lifeless body invaded his mind. It was a day he wished that he could forget. It had changed him, completely and forever, but he hadn't killed Norman. He could never have done something so cruel on purpose... "I gotta go, Harry. I'll see you later."

Peter shivered at the recollection of his fight with Norman, then known as Green Goblin, and moved towards the exit; desperate to escape his own mind. He had barely made it to the door when Harry yelled out "I'm...sorry, Pete. You've always been there for me, and I know that it's not your fault. I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

Peter glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "I know. It's alright."

The college student then reached for the door handle and pulled it open. Again, as he adjusted his bag on his back and stepped out of the penthouse, Harry spoke. "Do me a favour, yeah? Ask that girl out."

Peter Parker did not ask her out. He did what he always did; run around New York wearing a stupid costume and punching people for jaywalking. Okay well not jaywalking. Maybe crossing the street without looking though. By the time he was done with defusing a dangerous car chase among other really fun things, it was dark out.

When the webhead returned to his secret lair, the one-room apartment in the really bad side of town with rent that costs way more than it should, he dropped into his bed and stared at the wall for a good twenty minutes. "People really need to stop crossing the street without looking both ways." He muttered to himself, recalling the thirty times he had to swing someone to safety that day for being stupid and not watching for cars, then berate them for being irresponsible. You guys know how Peter gets about responsibility, he's like Elon Musk when you mention Mars. The moral of this paragraph is to look both ways before you cross. If you don't do it, he'll come for you. Like it says in that catchy theme song: 'look out, here comes the Spider-Man'. He's coming. He's coming for you and your jaywalking habits.

Right now, though, the only thing Spider-Man was coming for was his shitty fridge that encrusted everything in the freezer in a layer of ice thicker than Flash Thompson's skull. Crime-fighting all day makes a man hungry, and thankfully he now had a fridge full of fruit that he had packed up earlier that evening.

Peter's eyes were half shut as he yanked the fridge door open. He smacked his lips wearily as he reached for a handful of perfectly green grapes (because, if it weren't already obvious, Harry didn't eat anything that wasn't perfect), and shoved them into his mouth all at once.

"Oh god. Oh my god that's so good. Oh I love you, ground fruit. I'm sorry you had to die." Peter mumbled to himself.

With that he carelessly slammed the fridge door closed. Suddenly, Peter remembered that he had forgotten to put his garbage out. "Ugh..." He moaned, shutting his eyes.

Several minutes later, Peter was standing in front of his apartment wearing Fantastic 4 pyjamas and staring at a motorcycle that took up the only space on the entire block that wasn't already taken by other bins or fire hydrants. There have been times where he didn't have his bin right on the edge of the curb. Those times, he returned home to find a full garbage can waiting for him. It was so satisfying.

Right now, this motorbike was just sitting there mocking him. 'Ha ha, despite all your power Spider-Man, you cannot defeat me! Your quest to dispose of that waste matter shall go unfulfilled, for I have finally done what the Sinister Six could not! Without any means to dispose of that garbage, you will be forced to wallow in your own sadness until you die! I have destroyed you, Spider-Man! Muhahahaha!' It cackled. Peter stood there staring at it blankly, trash can sitting next to him, as confused pedestrians started crossing the street to avoid the weirdo wearing pants with Mr Fantastic's face plastered all over them.

Reluctantly, Peter took a couple steps up to the bike and glanced around. The crowds were thinning...so he thought that perhaps, it was time to let loose his true strength. He leant down to pick up the motorbike but was stopped when he heard someone yell "Hey! Kid!"

He rolled his eyes, stood back up and saw that a fairly large biker guy was stomping over to him. "What the hell are you doin', boy? Tryin' to rip off my bike? Goddamn college students."

Peter curled his lips in suppressed frustration as the biker shoved into his shoulder on his way over to the vehicle. The man vaulted onto the bike, spat at Peter's feet, then roared off on the obnoxiously loud thing like he was trying to get as close to every single object in sight without actually hitting them. It was actually quite impressive.

With a deep sigh, Peter lifted his trash can and placed it right where it belonged. In his usual spot. With a weak smile, Peter planted his hands onto his hips and took a step back. Slowly, but too fast for Peter to react, so it seems, the can toppled over onto the street. The black garbage bag fell slightly out of the metal container. Then, a car whizzed by.

Peter's weekly garbage, including disposed meat, eggs, and other really smelly things, was sprayed all over the street as the car's tyre shredded open the bag. Peter's right eye twitched intensely.

There also, as if the universe had not yet fulfilled what was required of it, came a shrill cry from across the street. "The Fantastic Four sucks balls!!"

The college student glanced at the floor and exhaled heavily.


	8. Eight

**_Chapter Eight: A Very Stilted Conversation_**

Peter's college day ended just like any other; with him sitting in the men's bathroom and staring at the graffiti that coated the stall. It was pretty decent reading material in Peter's very experienced opinion. There were a few swear words sprawled in capitals across the door, initials etched into the corner, and little snippets of song lyrics scribbled onto the sides by people equally as bored as Peter was at that very moment. Granted, Peter didn't recognise any of these lyrics, but they provided him with a momentary distraction from Harry's constant text messages.

Yes. He was ghosting Harry Osbourne, his best friend since 3rd grade and now the owner of one of the most influential companies of the last few decades. That might sound like a really terrible idea, and it absolutely was, but Peter had his reasons...namely that Harry kept bothering him about asking Annabelle out. He had even threatened to do it himself if Peter continued refusing. Honestly, he regretted ever mentioning her to his overzealous friend.

Perhaps if he asked her out, purely as classmates, then Harry would be forced to stop for at least a week or two... Yeah. That didn't sound so bad. Nothing had to happen. No obligatory endangerment necessary. All he had to do was fabricate a plan - one that included an outing that wasn't too obvious and that couldn't be misconstrued for a date. Because it definitely wasn't a date. Nope. Not at all...not even a little bit.

The first place that came to mind was the New York Hall Of Science, and the second was Rose Center For Earth And Space. These were two of his ideal hang-out spots...and by 'hang-out' he meant going alone because no one wanted to go to a science museum on the weekend. Johnny actually laughed at him once for even suggesting it. I mean, that's a little uncalled for, right? Anyway, he quickly discarded this idea because it was still too much like a 'date' and not 'a friendly outing between classmates that was totally not a date in any way, shape, or form'.

As if by the miracle of some kind of toilet wizard, Peter let his eyes linger away from the graffiti and towards an advertisement taped to the back of the door. Peter never understood why people found it appropriate to stick messages in the bathrooms...but it was probably one of the most brilliant ideas of the century - with nothing else to do except sit there and wait for their body to do its thing, almost everyone was going to read it out of sheer boredom.

Intelligent marketing ploys aside, Peter skimmed the page and discovered that it was an announcement about their college football team, The Red Rangers, playing against the Railsplitter's that Friday night. Now, this typically wouldn't have grabbed Peter's attention. He hated football. He hated sport. He hated team activities of any kind in college. He especially hated to sit down and watch these things, pretending to be interested when he'd much rather be at home power napping. There was something on the page, though, in big and unmissable letters - like a beacon of light during a worldwide blackout, or a roll-up in your lunchbox as a kid. It read; 'FREE FOOD'.

Peter's heart fluttered in his chest. Truly, there was nothing more glorious than the promise of an unpaid meal...and he certainly couldn't afford to take her anywhere else. Peter's heart stopped fluttering. God, he was such a loser. No. He was a broke, disorganised loser that was going to take a girl to a football game (that he wasn't even interested in) just so he didn't have to find money to buy her food. Peter's good mood immediately soured. He certainly hadn't needed his own mind to ruin that small moment of joy...but it always did. It was like having his own personal bully, but instead of tripping him in the hallways, it gave his brain a swirly.

The plan was to walk up to her after tomorrow's class, but not in typical Peter Parker fashion. He was gonna look cool. Maybe put on some sunglasses inside like a real tool and spike his hair up at the front. He was even going to wear his most 'hip' and 'happening' clothes (which was primarily a pair of jeans with one hole in the front and a shirt with the word 'rad' on it, but he had to work with what he got at the thrift store). These plans were immediately tossed into oncoming traffic, however, when he spotted Annabelle outside of the campus.

She was standing near the opposing college, the one that Flash Thompson attended, and staring up at a mural. It was a giant work of art, using primarily spray paint, that showed a man sitting on a park bench and rain beginning to pour above him. It hadn't reached this unsuspecting man yet, but it would soon. That's how it would be forever. The coming storm almost reaching him, forever looming above his head, but never completely drenching him. Annabelle had taken out a permanent marker from her Thomas the Tank Engine bag (no, he's not joking), and started adding to the artwork.

This must have peaked Peter's curiosity more than his anxiety because he soon found himself wandering over to her.

As he grew closer, he found that she was drawing an jellyfish above the man's head. At least...he thought it was a jellyfish. Honestly, it could have been anything. The marker didn't really show up too well between the wall and the bright coloured paint. She also wasn't about to win any art competitions.

"What's that? Some kind of Hydrozoa?" Peter quipped with the most awkward laugh to ever grace the universe. It didn't really occur to him that most people would have no idea what he was saying until she turned around with a raised eyebrow.

"It's not a jellyfish. It's an umbrella." She replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Oh my god. She knew what a Hydrozoa was. At that very moment Careless Whisper by George Michael started playing in Peter's head. You know, the one with the saxophone... "O-Oh, yeah. I suppose it is. I can totally see it now."

He totally could not see it. The damned thing still looked like a jellyfish. Silence crept around them just like every other conversation Peter had ever engaged in. It always got uncomfortably quiet after a while because, well, he was too awkward to hold a natural interaction.

Then, as if to save Peter from embarrassing himself with a random fact about Pluto's diameter being smaller than the continent of Australia, Annabelle spoke "You know that Octopi can lock themselves in a coconut shell. I've seen it. It's pretty gross... I love it though."

Peter blinked at her in utter confusion.

"Oh, sorry, I blurt things out when it gets quiet. I don't like silence." She murmured, fiddling the permanent marker between her fingers. "I mean, silence is fine sometimes...but not always, you know what I mean?"

Wow. It was like she was speaking directly to his soul. "Yeah. I know exactly what you mean."

Annabelle smiled, it was lopsided and forced her nose to crinkle. "Do you like octopi?"

"I mean...they're animals, I suppose." Peter answered, altogether uncertain about how he was meant to respond. He never had any particularly strong opinions on cephalopods... "You like them though?"

Annabelle nodded in confirmation but Peter was no longer surprised by her strange interests. He decided to store this potentially important information into his memory banks, and extracted the courage to ask her to the upcoming football game. Then he realised that he never had the courage to begin with.

"H-Hey, uh, you know I'm kinda struggling with the new assignment for our literature class." Peter mumbled, averting his gaze to his shoes. Both of which were practically falling apart. "I was...you know...wondering if you could help me with it."

Annabelle adjusted the bag onto her shoulder. It was bright blue and clashed horribly with her orange sweater. "Sure. I can help."

A grin suddenly assaulted Peter's face. Emphasis on the word assaulted, because whenever he smiled there was this strange cringe that went along with it. As if he were waiting for someone to smack it right back off. He rarely got to feel actual unbridled happiness for longer than a few minutes before something ruined it. "Really? Well, how about Friday night? There's a football game and-"

"Wait, I thought we were studying..." Annabelle questioned with a furrowed brow. "I'm not much into football...or any sport that involves sweaty guys in jockstraps."

"Oh, that's not...I mean, I'm not much of a sports person either." Peter hurriedly admitted, finding slight relief in the fact that she wasn't interested in ogling a group of muscular athletes. "But there's free food, so I thought that we could grab something to eat and smuggle it to the library or something?"

"Free food?" Annabelle's eyes widened, then sparkled joyfully at the thought. "I'm so in."

Peter held his breath; waiting for the storm to appear and trample this perfect moment - maybe it would be Flash Thompson showing up with a precise whack to the jaw, or a dumpster flying through the air to drop fresh garbage on top of him, even worse, it could be Annabelle yelling 'sike!' at the top of her lungs and dashing away with bellowing laughter.

He waited...and waited...and waited. Still, nothing came to ruin his moment.

Peter cleared his throat with newfound triumph over the world. "Cool. I'll...meet you here then. Let's say 6 o'clock."

Annabelle nodded and Peter gleamed with pride. He had done it. He had asked her out on...totally not a date. Even as he strode across the road with an unusual skip in his step, he still couldn't believe it. There was nothing in the universe that could drag him down from this high. Not even tripping over his own two feet as he pranced towards Dr. Conners' lab. Not even being almost run over by several vehicles running a red light. Not even the loud, maniacal laughter of a familiar foe.

"Run!" Someone yelled, breathlessly. "It's that man with the stilts!"

"Not just any man, you gibbering idiot!" A booming, rather nasally voice echoed through the air. From the distance appeared something so tall that it dwarfed any mildly large adult male... That may not sound very tall, and maybe it wasn't, but this guy had metal contraptions fastened around his legs. That's pretty threatening. Especially if he kicked someone. I mean, that would really hurt...probably. "Make way for the new and improved STILT-MAN!"


	9. Nine

_**The Man In The High... Shoes?**_

Stilt-Man... Yeah, this guy's real too. Just like Plant Man and The Kangaroo. Hit up Google if you don't believe it. This shit's real, fool. Well he's technically one of Daredevil's villains, but don't let that distract you from the awesome power of his slightly elevated height. Stilt-Man means business.

"Could you kindly put your wallets and valuables on top of the nearest car for me before you run away? It's a little difficult to bend over in these things." Stilt-Man decreed.

Usually, Peter would vault into action immediately to save people from danger...but come on. It's Stilt-Man. What was he going to do? Fill people with the anxiety that his precarious wobbling might soon culminate in him tripping over and crushing someone? Spider-Man emerged from an alleyway, not swinging or anything. Just walking. That's how sick of this he was.

"Hey! Can we...hurry this up? I got somewhere to be!" Peter called, cupping his hands around his mouth in an effort to allow the sound waves of his meek voice to reach Stilt-Man's superior elevation.

The villain stopped in his tracks and peered over his shoulder. "Oh. It's you. Where's Daredevil? I was expecting Daredevil." He said, sounding incredibly disappointed.

Peter webbed the sack of personal belongings that Stilt-Man had within his grasp and quipped "Probably sitting in his apartment with a bowl of popcorn, listening to me deal with this rubbish."

"What?! I can't hear you, I'm a little high up!"

"I...I-I said he's probably sitting in his apartment with a bowl of popcorn...listening to you annoy me!" The webhead called with an additional teaspoon of volume added to satisfy the towering troublemaker.

You like that one? 'Towering troublemaker'? Just came up with it on the spot. Well, I guess all writing is something you come up with on the spot... Why is the narrator suddenly rambling like this, you say? Maybe because Stilt-Man became very upset with Spidey's last remark and decided to kick him with one of his spindly legs, and presenting that action in a cool, impressive way is hard. Obviously, the wall-crawler jumped clear of the attack but there are only so many ways you can say 'Spider-Man evaded the kick' before you need to recycle things, and let's not do that. It's only chapter 8, some of the good adjectives and verbs need to be saved for later on.

Just as the absolute stupidity of this situation started to dawn upon our masked hero, a blur of black and white suddenly jumped onto the scene yelling "Never fear, Protonslaught is here!"

Silence echoed through the air, and then with a loud scoff Stilt-Man said "Really? That's what you went with? How original."

"Oi! Shut up." The leather-bound woman huffed. "I'm not the one wearing high heels."

The towering villain gasped, utterly insulted, then muttered "They're not high heels...they're stilts."

"Yeah, have you ever seen stilettos? They're like tiny stilts." Protonslaught argued with a confident flick of her platinum blonde hair. "So you're wearing high heels."

Spider-Man groaned. He did not want to deal with two idiots at once. Especially not now that he was almost twenty minutes late for work. "Sounds like you guys are having a really interesting conversation, you can handle him from here right?"

Protonslaught seemed to stand a little taller at the request for help, and for the first time...well ever, he saw her smile. It was lopsided and her nose crinkled in response to it. "No need to worry, Jizz-hands. I got this."

Now, usually Spidey would have made some gesture of disapproval, whether it be an elaborate eye-roll beneath his mask or a terrible comeback, but this time he was so incredibly anxious to get to Dr. Connors' lab that her stupid nicknames didn't bother him.

Protonslaught took a deep, very obnoxious breath and held her hands out in front of her. Spider-Man was half expecting a banana to fly out of her sleeve but instead an icy chill flittered through the street. The ground beneath his feet froze, cracking and hissing, until it was solid ice. In fact, the entire road was completely frozen over.

Spider-Man stared, pointing at the ground as if it were as inconceivable as a gaseous alien lifeform. "W-What do you even do?"

The girl, who had meant to make the ground slippery but certainly not turn it to ice, gave a sheepish laugh. "If you knew, it wouldn't be any fun."

The webhead huffed. There was no fun in this at all. He wasn't too affected by the ice personally because, well, he was sticky...he could climb up walls and stand upside down and do basically anything else that involved adhesion. However, the citizens in the area weren't so fortunate. There was screaming, yelling, and a lot of tire screeching as people and vehicles alike slid around on the ice.

Spidey facepalmed. He should have seen this coming...

Amongst the crowd of voices, grunting as they all tried not to fall on their asses, Spider-Man heard a baby crying. He looked to his left and spotted a mother holding her child, slipping around and trying desperately to find something to hang on to.

Spider-Man hurried towards the distressed mother and steadied her before she could plummet to the ground. He glanced at the sniffling baby as if it were a ravenous monster and murmured "Why isn't that thing in a pram?"

The woman gestured behind him and towards the very object of discussion. It was skidding away on the ice at such a speed that anyone that tried to grab it would have been dragged along with the damn thing. "Hm, I dunno, buddy. Maybe because it's over there?" She snapped.

"Oh, right, sorry..." Peter rubbed the back of his masked head nervously. "I-I'll just go get that for you."

Spidey sighed deeply as he once again regretted everything. The pram slid away gently as the webslinger leapt forward like a flea. However, as if it would ever be that easy for him, Peter's brain burned within his skull. His Spidey-Sense was tingling. Yeah, 'tingle' makes it sound like it would feel good but it doesn't. It's kinda like when you get all shivery and you writhe like a weirdo for no reason at all, only difference was that you knew for a fact that something bad was going to happen afterwards.

As time seemed to freeze for Peter, he saw two cars in his peripheral vision; both drifting out of control. One was about to bust in from his left, and the other from the right. If he didn't move quick, he was going to be made into a spider sandwich. The two drivers would also plough straight into each other and die or something. Imagine that for a second. A spider sandwich. Gross right? Yeah it's pretty disgusting. Now you're going to check the next sandwich you have for spiders.

Peter pressed his right foot onto the front fender of one car and pushed it with a teeny tiny fraction of his strength whilst simultaneously webbing the back wheel of the vehicle; the engine only spun the rear axel, so this would hopefully stop the thing from going any faster. The sedan slid slowly into the base of a traffic light, causing very light damage to the front of the car but nothing serious. He then turned his attention to the other one, which was on a intercept course for his face.

"Okay...okay...I'm gonna Superman it. I can do it. Yeah. I-I can do it." Peter muttered, slapping himself in the face and flexing his shoulders. The car got bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

Travelling at great speed, the car slammed into Spidey, who roared in exertion as he tensed his arms to fight against the object's momentum. After several seconds of gritting his teeth, the car floated to a halt, and the webhead didn't let another second go to waste. He bounded once more, and landed right in front of the pram. "God...let's not do that again."

In the background, as he retrieved said pram, he could hear the girlish squeal of Stilt-Man as he wobbled to and fro.

Protonslaught laughed in triumph. "Give it up, Stiletto-Man. You gotta fall eventually."

It was at this very moment that Spider-Man recalled how terribly every single situation ended whenever she showed up. It had been a clear mistake to ask her for help...one that he wouldn't ever repeat.

Like the outstanding citizen that he was, the webslinger returned the pram and prevented a few more collisions; all the while Stilt-Man was still struggling to keep his balance. Seriously, it was getting ridiculous...he just refused to fall.

Then, finally, there was an almighty 'crack' and 'crash' as Stilt-Man was sent tumbling to the ground. When Spider-Man turned his gaze towards the scene he found that he had not only fallen, but the metal stilts he wore had completely snapped off. How was this possible, you may ask? Well, Peter could only assume that Protonslaught's attempt to create an icy veil over the road also froze his stilts. It created something called a 'cold snap'. Below a certain temperature, all steel switches from being deformable to being brittle, as increasing cold weakens the connections between crystal grains. Though...something told him that she didn't know any of this, and that it had just been pure coincidence.

As Spidey looked closer he discovered that it wasn't just the metal contraption that had broken, but the villains legs were also forced in unnatural directions. "My legs!" He whined as if he wasn't just about to rob dozens of people. "She broke my legs!"

Protonslaught huffed. "I'll break a whole lot more if you don't shut up."

Again, Spidey would be a little annoyed by her blatant disregard for human suffering...but he was so incredibly late for work. More than anything, he was just confused. Since he'd known Protonslaught, she had thrown a tire, created a banana peel, and turned the ground to ice - all seemingly out of thin air. Did that make her a magician or something? He honestly had no clue.

Then it hit him like a volleyball to the head...which Peter had quite a lot of experience with. "You don't have any idea how to control your abilities, do you?"

Protonslaught's entire body tensed. "O-Of course I do! You think I turned the road to ice by accident?!"

"Yes." Spider-Man answered simply and the girl gulped.

"That's ridiculous. I totally meant to do this. Actually, everything I do is on purpose, always."

"So, you broke Stilt-Man's legs on purpose?" Spider-Man murmured sceptically.

"Y-Yeah! Well, he can't get away if his legs don't work..."

It was sound logic, but said in a tone so anxious that it became clear that he was right. She didn't even know what her own powers were, and for some strange reason she had decided to use them anyway.

"You're evil, lady!" The stiltless Stilt-Man whined in pain. All things considered, he was taking it pretty well. The villain shifted his arms beneath him, and instinctively Spider-Man aimed a web directly at his torso. It pinned him to the ground, and Stilt-Man stared at him in absolute disbelief. "Wh-What the hell?! My legs are broken, remember? I can't escape!"

Spidey shrugged. "Can never be too careful."

The villain looked like he might argue, but then a scent caught his attention. It was strong...so strong, in fact, that it triggered his gag reflex. He retched, but then like the curious human being that he was, he started sniffing the air again to find the source of such a smell. Stilt-Man narrowed his eyes at the webbing that trapped him on the ground then leaned forward to sniff it. "O-Oh my god, is that bleach?!"

"Yeah, it's the secret ingredient." Spider-Man quipped. "Don't eat it."

Like an excited bunny at the prospect of a freshly grown carrot, Protonslaught jumped to Spider-Man's side and grasped his right hand in hers. "How do these things work?"

Spider-Man frowned beneath his mask, watching as she flicked the web shooter then prying his hand away. "I doubt you'd understand even if I told you-"

It was at this moment that Protonslaught's gaze met his, and her eyes beneath that domino mask caught him off guard. They were...familiar, somehow. Almost maddeningly so.

There were already plenty of poems and stories comparing blue eyes to the electric sky or the unyielding ocean, but Peter wasn't much for poetry. They were, instead, the blue of his childhood Star Trek blanket; or, alternatively, they were bluer than Neptune. Not that the planet was naturally blue to begin with. It was actually the methane in Neptune's upper atmosphere that absorbed the red light from the sun and reflected the blue light back into space. That's what made it look blue. He was fairly certain that wasn't the case for her eyes, but still, they were pretty damn blue.

"What the hell are you looking at, Arachnid-Boy?" Protonslaught huffed and all of Spider-Man's most bewildering thoughts were eradicated. Her eyes reminded him of someone, but she acted more obnoxious than anyone he had ever met. Maybe with the exception of Flash Thompson.

"Wish I knew." Spidey retorted, hitting the device in his hand and swinging onto a nearby street lamp. "You can clean this up, right? I'm kinda late for something."

"Hey! Don't dump this on me! Maybe I'm late for something too!"

Without even acknowledging her last statement, Spider-Man flung another web, at a building this time, and swung out of sight. He left her to deal with the pain-riddled criminal howling in the background. After all, she was the one that barged in and broke his legs...and at this stage Peter was even more late for work than usual. Dr Connors really wasn't going to like this.


	10. Ten

Chapter Ten: **_Science, Bitches._**

Peter Parker was one of those dudes that everybody thought was a little weird. Not because anyone thought he was a superhero or anything, pft, of course not. Because he was always stepping out of janitor's closets, storerooms, bathrooms, and stairway doors looking extremely sweaty and out of breath. The campus security personnel would exchange their guesses whenever he came fumbling along.

One guard, leaning on the side of Columbia University's campus security office, crossed his arms. "I reckon he was having a wank."

His pal cocked his head in confusion and replied "What? Look at him. He hasn't had any desire for anything in his life. He was eating a sandwich."

"A sandwich? Why a sandwich?"

"What else would a kid like that eat? A burrito?"

The pair stared as Peter sprinted from the main building to the sciences department. The shoelace of one shoe was undone and whipped about wildly as he flailed awkwardly on his run.

"Yeah...you're right. It's probably ham."

"Ham and cheese. Plain white bread. Not toasted."

Peter's shoelace got caught in the steel grill of a bin and tugged his foot back. Of course, to the untrained eye, one would expect the unassuming man to fall over. But on the contrary, all that befell Peter Parker was a really weird forced leg spread since his left foot was stuck and couldn't step when it needed to. He sighed and hopped over to the bin and snatched his shoelace free.

"Totally"

We now leave the two unnamed security officers that will never be mentioned again since they were just a neat way to begin this chapter, and instead travel alongside Peter Parker into Columbia University's sciences building. And here now, true believers, witness another instance of the famous 'Parker Luck'; our wallcrawler applied for several colleges during his final months at high school. One of them was Empire State University, and another was Columbia. His classroom science teacher, Mister Warren, had recommended him as a lab assistant to an old colleague named Curtis Connors who conducted research and lectured at Columbia. Peter scored the job after a short internship and worked there for the remainder of his high school days. When he graduated, of course Peter was accepted into ESU and not Columbia. He worked on one side of New York, and studied at the other. Even with his super extreme spider powers, it was almost impossible to make it on time normally, let alone when a psycho wearing stilts showed up and tripped over himself.

Meanwhile, whilst you were reading that overly complicated exposition that perhaps wasn't entirely necessary but funny nonetheless because Peter having mildly inconveniencing stuff happening to him is funny and/or relatable, he came barging through the door to the genetics lab.

The first thing he saw was Dr. Connors, completing the preparations for the long-planned trial he and Peter were scheduled to perform today. "Doctor Connors...I'm so sorry. Something came up..." Peter sighed as he took his bag off, tossed it into the back room and snapped up his coat from the rack.

"Parker, I have a question for you. Are you serious about your work, or are you not? If I don't like your answer, I'll ask you to pack your things and get out of my lab." Connors said calmly.

"Sir...I..I'm sorry. I'm trying to...be here on time."

"Don't try, Parker. Just do it. My wife's convincing is the only reason I haven't fired you on the spot."

Peter's eyes fell to the ground.

"Get over here and do your job before I change my mind, please."

"Y-Yes sir!" Peter stammered, hurrying over to his employer who was tending to their samples.

Doctor Connors was spearheading bioengineering research, his prime goal being to use the CRISPR system to isolate and map the elusive 'early growth response' control gene and use it to repair physical injury. Other doctors and professors in the faculty were pursuing other avenues of genetic research, some focusing on fish DNA to achieve regeneration. However, Connors possessed experience in the field of reptilian biology and thus sought out to identify and source their regenerative code, and to use CRISPR to insert this gene into humans, effectively gifting anyone given the treatment with a regenerative healing factor. This may or may not be motivated by the fact that he lost an arm when he was a combat surgeon in the US Army or something, but he insists that it also allows human beings to recover from what could be fatal injuries.

If all of that just sifted through your brain because you were expecting some kind of magic needle injection instead of a long-winded attempt to keep at least one foot planted in real-life science, Peter would be disappointed in you. However, because stupidness is absolutely not your fault and is fine, this is the short version: Doctor Connors wants to copy paste lizard stuff into people so we can not die when certain shit happens to us, maybe even grow arms and legs back. Cool, right?

Right now, they were still working their way through biological samples of hundreds of different reptile species and isolating what was thought to be the EGS gene in each. As Peter readied the petri dish that held salamander DNA, he said quietly "Doctor Connors...thank you. I-I need this job...and I love it. It's my dream to be working in a lab like this, doing this kind of research. I won't let you down again."

Connors thinned his lips as he moved over to a tray lined with capsules of the Cas9 protein that would be introduced into their reptile DNA samples with the preprogrammed task of removing a certain code sequence. Seconds of silence filled Peter's heart with dread until Connors finally spoke. "...Look, Peter. You've been of incredible help on the project. Quite frankly, I would expect this level of involvement from a research partner, not an assistant."

Peter loved science. Everybody knew that. Everything from astrophysics, biology, chemistry, and hell, even geology made his eyes water. But, like the good Doctor Connors, Peter had a personal stake in this. When he first got this job, he wanted to understand the source of his powers, and to do that he needed to map his own genome. After doing so, he discovered that the spider bite he got slapped with only altered portions of his DNA. Whatever venom that turned him into a super spider boy was clearly perfectly balanced against the human immune system. It didn't give him extra eyes or arms, yet it also wasn't completely blanked out by his immune system. Instead, they both cancelled each other out and he became both at the same time.

After learning this, he realised that he himself was the end product of what Connors was trying to do; a human-animal genetic hybrid. And the odds of it working out the exact same way without an extremely calculated response was...well...pretty shitty. He was determined to help Connors get his arm back, and hopefully even save more lives in the long run once tests were complete. And, of course, perhaps...maybe...even use the data to perform the same process but in reverse; remove integrated animal gene sequences from a human system. Once again, for you people; cure himself of Spider-Man permanently.

Connors continued "But I can't keep paying you for not being here. If there's anything going on, the university has several counsellors you can speak to. I don't want to see you waste your abilities by being late, coming to work exhausted, and well, pardon my French, not giving a shit."

Peter tensed his brow. "I do give a shit, sir."

"Of course you do. Now shut up and let's do this."

Minutes passed in utter silence as the pair went from sample to sample, injecting the Cas9 enzyme quickly and efficiently. Connors was hoping to inspect each instance of the EGR code individually, and perhaps even integrate all samples in order to create a more reinforced and robust version of trials on mice.

Before too long, Doctor Martha Connors entered the room with a fresh batch of reptile samples for later testing. "I told you he'd be here, Curt."

Without averting his gaze and dropping his concentration...wait, there are now two Doctor Connors in this scene. Well, this means that after calling him Doctor Connors the entire time, he will suddenly now be referred to as Curtis. Now wasn't that a smooth transition? Without averting his gaze or dropping his concentration, Curtis remarked monotonously "You also told me you'd be back in five minutes. I don't suppose you use the same brand of watch as Mister Parker here?"

"Oh grow up. How are you Peter? How's your degree going?"

"I'm okay, Mrs. C. It's alright I guess."

Curtis rolled his eyes "You need some more self-confidence, Peter. No one likes a man who isn't sure of himself. Especially women."

"Really?" Peter pressed.

Martha laid the tray of petri dishes onto a nearby counter. "No. Don't listen to him. You sounded a little inquisitive there. Is there someone you've got your eyes on?"

"Martha, now isn't the time--"

"Curt? Shut up." Martha snapped. Peter blinked rapidly as he continued cycling through the organic materials. She continued by asking "What's the deal, Peter?"

"U-Uh...I like her. I'm supposed to be going out with her on Friday night?"

"Excuse me?" Curtis droned.

Peter arched an eyebrow.

"You're working. Here."

"What? I am?"

"Yes. "

Martha groaned in frustration "Old man, you are going to let this boy go on a date with his woman."

"O-Oh it's not a date and she's n-not my woman." Peter sheepishly interjected.

"Leave is reserved for unforeseen circumstances."

"Getting a date isn't an unforeseen circumstance?" Martha questioned.

"It's inadequate."

"Inadequate?" Said Martha, crossing her arms.

Peter set his current petri dish and threw his hands up "Do I need to call nine one one and report a domestic dispute?"

"Don't be ridiculous." The geneticist stated blandly. "A university lab isn't a domestic environment."

Martha, clearly not too pleased with her husband's behaviour, simply ignored his response and spoke directly to Peter. "Although he's never going to tell you himself, Curtis wasn't a straight arrow as you might expect. To be honest, you remind me of him. This situation in particular reminds me of how he snuck out of his base when he was in the army so he could take me to watch a movie."

Curt bit his lip and tensed his brow, continuing his Cas9 applications.

"What? Are you serious? He went AWOL for a date?" Peter whistled.

"Yes. He was quite the romantic. So, Curt honey, do you remember that night?"

"...Yes..." He sighed. "Fine. But we're getting through all these samples today, understood?"

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. It was loud...really loud. It sounded like a gust of wind had creaked through the building and punched him in the gut. Having to cancel his 'totally not date' with Annabelle would have been disastrous. "Y-Yeah, of course! Thanks."

Now, finishing one hundred and fifty samples in one afternoon would usually be fairly easy...but, as I'm going to mention for the fortieth time, Peter was incredibly late. He had lost a few hours of daylight and had to practically press fast-forward on his brain just to finish them all in time.

By some miracle he succeeded and left without annoying Doctor Connors any further. Don't let this brief exchange fool you, Peter had an enormous amount of respect for Curtis, and vice versa, but his tardiness was enough to test any employer. The fact that he hadn't been fired yet was enough to suggest that Connors was a decent guy.

Embarrassment still lingering over his head like a dozen grey clouds, Peter journeyed to the roof of the university building. He stripped off his loose-fitting button-up shirt and his jeans with the massive hole in the thigh...and no, before you ask, he wasn't naked underneath. You should all know by now that he wore his Spider-Man suit underneath his clothes as if they were some special kind of underwear; a full-body...muck covered one.

Upon pulling the mask over his head Peter stuffed the clothes into his bag, pulled it over his shoulder, and swung away. The streets were fairly quiet. Well, apart from the usual traffic trouble and verbal battles. Certainly nothing that warranted a super-powered arachnid to save the day.

He did, however, spot Annabelle skipping down the sidewalk with a bag clutched tight in her hands that read 'Midtown Kebabs'. She was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, and...humming? Yeah. Peter was close enough to vaguely hear it. So could the people around her who blinked in bewilderment as she passed completely oblivious to their strange glances.

It is important to note here that Peter Benjamin Parker was no stalker. He rarely had time to follow people around anyway, and even when he did it was usually some old creepy guy that he suspected of criminal activity. Even now, as he followed Annabelle at a reasonably unnoticeable distance, he was definitely not stalking her. He was just...worried about her safety. Kebabs were pretty popular nowadays. Someone might try and rob her of that five dollar meal. Spider-Man wouldn't allow it.

Apparently a thief was no match for Annabelle's own clumsiness though. Within the span of five minutes she had tripped over her own feet and stumbled onto the road. Her kebab bag smashed against the asphalt, but that was probably only a secondary concern compared to the truck that was only seconds away from hitting her. The driver tried to stop and the breaks screeched, but it was already too late.

Heart practically breaking his ribcage in half, Peter leapt into action. He pressed down on his webshooter with such pressure that he was surprised that he didn't immediately break it on impact, and the spindly rope-like substance stuck itself onto Annabelle's backpack. He yanked her backward, caught her before she could fall, and that truck zoomed passed only milliseconds later.

Annabelle's eyes were wide, breath hollow, and her entire body was tense with shock. A pretty standard reaction to, not only tripping into traffic, but being pulled back and barely missing an early grave. She could even see her own tombstone standing, lonely, on the other side of the road. She swore that she could. It was dark grey and read 'Here lies Annabelle Lee. Beloved student, I guess. She made literally no contribution to anyone's life. RIP'.

"U-Uh...are you alright?" Spider-Man stuttered, trying to ignore the fact that she smelt like toast today. He was so close that he could almost tell what kind of toast it was. The mask was in the way of that though. Suddenly, he regretted designing his costume to have one that covered his nose.

Annabelle gulped then turned her gaze towards him. She was wearing bright green eyeshadow like something out of the 80s. He swore she hadn't been wearing it earlier that day. "You're...The Human Spider..."

Have you ever been punched in the jaw by a bodybuilder? Well, this was much worse. Not only had she got his name horribly wrong, but she looked so confident about it as well. How was he meant to correct her when she sounded so certain? Seriously...she knew who The Human Torch was, just one member of the Fantastic Four, but she had no idea what his actual name was? That was a painful reality check that Peter hadn't needed today.

"Yeah...Human Spider, close enough." He shrugged, but he couldn't dismiss his dwindling self-esteem so easily. He couldn't even look at her after such a rejection. Instead, his eyes had flicked to the road where her kebab wrap had dropped...only there was no kebab inside at all. Instead, splattered all across the ground and being run over by a myriad of cars, was a bag full of cooked pasta. No sauce. No meat. Just pasta. "Is there any particular reason you were carrying fettuccine around?"

"Oh, it was just a snack." Belle answered as if she wasn't absolutely insane. She rustled into her backpack and pulled out two more kebab bags. Belle opened one of them, then took out a long piece of pasta and gobbled it down like a baby bird. She extended the remaining one towards Spider-Man as if it were potted gold. "Here. For saving me."

The webslinger stared at it in disbelief, but accepted her offer nonetheless. After all, it was food. Better yet it was food given to him by Annabelle Lee. "What's with the kebab bag?"

"They have foil on the inside to keep stuff hot." She beamed brightly at him; like the sun. Peter was worried that even his costume wouldn't protect him from being burned.

"Gee, thanks..." Spider-Man said, clearly perplexed about the entire situation. This was definitely the strangest way that anyone had thanked him for saving their life. He wasn't even sure how to react.

What is a man to do when handed a bag full of cooked pasta by his crush? It was one of the world's many unanswered questions. Perhaps the most important one that Peter had ever been faced with.


	11. Eleven

**_Chapter Eleven: Full-ish House_**

The living space in Avengers HQ was top-notch. It made Peter want to cry. There were well-kept quarters for everyone who lived in it, state-of-the-art lab facilities, and most importantly, a constantly stocked kitchen. Peter was currently stuck to the wall in the kitchen area, ravaging a packet of Twisties like he hadn't eaten since he was born.

Hey now, Peter Parker was no freeloader. Most of the time. He was here for a reason; he was contacted earlier by Tony Stark, who said he needed to discuss something with the webhead. But, as expected, when Peter showed up, the guy was busy tending to equipment damage sustained during a mission led by Captain Rogers. Some tech, including Quinjet 5, Cap's protective uniform, and Hawkeye's specialised arrowheads, needed some once overs before they were either repaired or replaced.

Spidey heard some voices from the hallway growing louder. "I'm not saying that we need your help, I'm saying that most of the fights we go through would be over in ten seconds if you stuck around."

"There be Nine Realms that require the protection of the Thunder, friend Barton. Loathe be, I cannot spend all my moons on Midgard."

"What?"

"He says he has better things to do than protect you." A woman retorted with immense sass.

Four figures entered the room; Captain America, Hawkeye, Wasp, and Thor.

"Ehlo guhys." Peter greeted, mouth full of eviscerated Twisties and his gloveless fingers encrusted with the dust of his fallen cheesy enemies. The glove of his costume was sitting on the kitchen counter, and his mask had been pulled up and over his mouth to allow for the intake of sustenance.

Steve nodded curtly "Twice in one week, Peter.", Janet smiled energetically as she called melodically "Heyyyyy!"

Thor bellowed "Greetings my friend."

Clint frowned in disgust. "Jesus, you want to slow down there cowboy? You're getting cheese dust everywhere."

As the group entered, Thor set his trusty hammer, Mjolnir, onto the table and planted his hands on his hips. "Stifle thy misgivings, my avid arching companion; a feast is the mark of a victory well won! We too have smelt the sweet stench of a defeated foe. Speak; in the glory of what triumph doth thou currently bask by way of thy vigorous gorging?"

"Arh got arh pestuh." He slurred, still piling Twisties into the hatch.

"How old are you? Chew your food." Janet pressed.

Peter swallowed and clarified "I got a pasta."

"...'A pasta'? You got 'a pasta'?" Hawkeye repeated monotonously in disbelief and disappointment.

"Yeah. From a girl I like. It was awesome."

"She cooked you a meal? Sounds like you're getting somewhere." Steve said as he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of spring water. Steve was wearing a fitted white t-shirt instead of his trademark uniform shirt; as previously mentioned, you dumb dumb, it was currently being appraised and mended by Tony.

"Oh. It was just the pasta in a paper bag. I mean it was boiled, though."

Steve cocked his head, furrowed his brow and squinted all at once. "Is...that a thing now?" He glanced around the room with genuine curiosity. He wasn't the kind of person who kept up with social trends and stuff. He had become incredibly caught up in recent years; you couldn't tell he was a hundred years old and lived most of his life without the magic of Spongebob Squarepants. But when it came to emerging trends, you could easily see the confusion in his eyes. Peter remembered trying to explain those weird Freddy Mercury meme videos to him. It was like showing a parent or a grandparent something and it just went completely over their heads; they were just confused at the end of it all.

Clint saw an opportunity and took it. "Duh, Steve. Didn't I tell you about when I got my pasta from Bobbi? She gave me a whole damn sack of spaghetti."

Steve nodded and pursed his lips, in an effort to absorb this information. "As soon as I'm used to everything, there's always something else that changes."

"Clint." Janet scalded, despite the fact that she thought it was kinda funny.

Hawkeye shrugged "What? Hank never gave you some ravioli or something? Ouch. That's rough."

"It's not a thing, Steve." She said reluctantly

The Captain rolled his eyes.

"Thanks Jan. You ruined it." Clint sighed as he leapt onto the couch, tracking soot and ash all over it.

Janet winked as she slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter.

Steve, after sculling the entire bottle of water as if he were some sort of demented fish man, sorry Namor, tossed the empty vessel into the bin and approached Peter with even more curiosity. "So this woman...gave you pasta...in a bag? That's very...generous of her."

"Was it Bolognese at least? Janet quizzed.

Peter licked the tips of his cheesy fingers "No sauce."

"No sauce..." Steve ruminated, puzzled.

"Yeah."

Steve scratched the back of his head. "...Salt?"

"Nah. It was just boiled pasta."

"And...this was meant to be a gift?"

"Yeah, she tripped onto the street and I saved her."

Thor rubbed his beard contemplatively "Hm, curious. I cannot say that I have ever been granted this 'pasta' as a spoil of battle. Is she of sound mental health?"

"Well? Uh, yeah. Pretty sure. Why are we talking about my personal life again?"

"Because this broad's nuts. Get out while you can. You shouldn't have let that hot redhead dump you. Your new girlfriend's batshit insane."

"She's not my girlfriend, Hawkguy."

Steve snatched an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite out of it as Thor brushed passed him and reached into the fridge, before saying "You should let her know how you feel, Peter. Give her a bouquet, take her dancing, go see a picture together."

"Picture? What picture? Art gallery?" Peter quipped.

"Funny." Steve dismissed.

Janet leant onto the counter and raised an eyebrow. "So uh...do you like that she gave you pasta?"

"Of course I do. I'm a college student." Spidey replied.

Thor plucked a bottle of Budweiser from the fridge and stared at it like it was some kind of completely strange sight that he had never beheld before. He literally pulled the cap off, which was a twist-off by the way, and took a swig. Afterwards, his face was painted with a sneer of pure disappointment "What manner of bile concoction is this? Doth this be some charlatan's excuse for ale? A child could ingest gallons of such weak dribble."

"Thor, it's American beer. It sucks." Clint muttered, laying down on the couch as he tossed a baseball up at the ceiling over and over again.

Steve, crossing his arms, took a step forward. "Come on, break time's over Clint. We got post-op duties to see to."

Clint groaned "Man, how come Thor doesn't have to file reports and manage equipment?"

"Because he'd Superman the computer." Peter added.

"What the hell does that mean?" Clint asked dryly.

"You know, age old trope of 'guy doesn't know how strong he is so he accidentally destroys something for comedic effect'?"

Wasp shrugged "It's not a trope if it's real, bug boy. I personally filled a drawer with extra doorknobs after you came by the first time."

Peter replied "I stand corrected."

"But thou art not standing..." Thor murmured not loud enough for anyone to hear.

Before long, Cap berated Hawkeye enough to get him to go with him and Janet to submit some incident reports regarding the mission. To help with the legalities of everything, it was always handy to have individual reports of every operation the Avengers embarked on. Thor held aloft his magic hammer and said "By the power of Asgard, I bid thee farewell." Before smashing through yet another glass window, Budweiser bottle still in hand.

At that point, once the party was over, Tony Stark finally appeared, shirt, face, and arms covered in grease. "Thanks for coming Pete."

"Woah."

"Yeah, I had to work overtime today. Everyone's breaking all of my expensive shit. You here about my call?"

"Yeah...I am. What did you need?" Peter answered, his hand now completely clean of Twisties dust thanks to the biological miracle of tongues and saliva.

Tony answered "I...wanted to ask you to join us again. The Avengers."

"We talked about this already, man. I'm just too busy for this kind of stuff."

"Peter, if you become a full-time Avenger you get a salary. You get paid. You don't need to study, or work, or anything. I know you've been having a tough time with cash, I can solve that for you."

Peter detached himself from the wall and threw his hands up in defeat. "You still don't get it. I don't need your help, Tony. I don't want it. I'm going to make it through by working hard and doing it legit."

"This is legit."

"Maybe. But answer this for me. Why do I deserve your money while there are people out there who work even harder and get nothing from you?"

"...You're starting to sound like Reed." Tony said quietly.

Peter shook his head. "I'm fine with what you do, I really am. I just don't want to be treated any differently than the guy on the street."

"Why the hell are you so stubborn about this?"

"Because I was brought up to value working hard for something, Tony. My Uncle Ben worked seven days a week for thirty-two years of his life to buy a tiny, two-bedroom house in Queens. It's not a mansion, it's not perfect, but he put everything into it. I know you're just trying to help, but I don't want your pity. I want to earn things, not have them handed to me on a platter."

Silence filled the room as Tony sighed and looked about. Peter had been a temporary member in the past, but his life was simply too packed to warrant being permanently involved in one more thing.

'What?', you say? 'Spider-Man is meant to be Iron Man's sidekick', you say? Well, Peter was never one to be anyone's sidekick. He was Spider-Man, not Spider-Boy, not Iron Lad, not even Iron boy. Peter was determined to be responsible (you should have a shot of vodka every time you read that word), and that determination couldn't be shattered by anyone.

Tony finally asked "Is that...is that a broken window on the thirty-fifth level of my skyscraper base?"

"Uh...yeah. It was Thor."

"He's like a goddamn pigeon. Can never see the bloody things."

Though it was tempting to further agitate Tony Stark, Peter decided not to smash another window on his way out. Instead, he used the front door like a normal human being...well, a normal guy with a full-body costume and holding a bag of cooked pasta. So, maybe not so normal after all.

As he distanced himself from Avengers Tower, he felt something shake inside of his backpack. He fumbled to pry open the zip and pull out his phone - answering mere seconds before it went to voicemail.

"Peter, are you there?" The small, sweet voice of his old aunt sounded on the other end.

"Y-Yeah! How are you, Aunt May?" Peter answered, swinging out of public view and perching on the top of a nearby sign. He pulled his mask over his mouth, only barely, to ensure that his voice wasn't muffled. He didn't want to make her suspicious. Yeah, his seventy-six year-old aunt didn't know that he was Spider-Man. Nobody knows, because you know, it's a secret identity. Well MJ knows but that doesn't count because we all know MJ is going to get tossed into the back boot for this one. I'll give you a few seconds to process the fact that she isn't some young, hot mom that Tony Stark can flirt with for a laugh.

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Okay, ready to continue? I'll just assume you said yes because at this very moment Aunt May is replying to Peter in her cute, old lady voice. "Oh, I'm fine. Just taking a few of Ben's things to the basement."

Peter's entire face paled behind the mask. He hadn't looked at that stuff in years...but the idea of it being removed from his aunt's place made him feel a little empty. He had loved his Uncle Ben like a father. There was no one else like him in the entire world; he taught Peter the value of patience, hard work, and get your shots ready, responsibility. "Your moving Uncle Ben's stuff? Why?"

"I thought it was time to redecorate, and heaven knows Ben never had any taste." There was a hint of sorrow in her tone that sliced right through Peter's heart. "Don't worry, it's not like I'm getting rid of this stuff. It will all be here if you ever want to look at it."

Peter sighed, attempting to subdue an almost unbearable memory. "You should have told me, I could've helped..."

"Nonesense, I'm not dead yet." May laughed, but Peter hated it when she even mentioned death. He had already lost his Uncle, and as the years passed he feared the inevitability of his Aunt leaving as well. "I only called because a few volunteers at the homeless shelter called in sick for tomorrow's free lunch. I was hoping you could come in and give me a hand."

"Sure. I got a free day tomorrow anyway." Peter replied without hesitation. His aunt had been keeping herself busy since Uncle Ben passed. She got involved with charities, helping people in rehab, and was an avid volunteer at the homeless shelter. Even at her age, she was still finding ways to help people. If Uncle Ben was Peter moral compass, then his Aunt May was his hero. She had always been, even now. Spider-Man couldn't hold a candle to that woman.

He was more than happy to help her in any way that he possibly could...and maybe he could sneak some free soup on the side. 'College student' and 'homeless' were kind of the same thing, in some ways. Except he had a roof over his head, so it wasn't 'homeless', it was just 'less'. Less food, less time, less sleep.


	12. Twelve

**_Chapter Twelve: Aunt-Man and The Wisp_**

An atrocity had been committed. It was an act so vile...so reckless, that Peter doubted that he would ever forgive himself. He had eaten that glorious bag of cooked pasta given to him by Annabelle Lee. It was a crime, honestly. Each piece of fettuccine should have been strung across the wall as a momentum...but instead he had scoffed it all down for dinner; not caring that it had grown cold during the long wait or that it was utterly sauceless. Hunger will do that to a man. One minute he's admiring the most valuable gift ever given to him, and the next he's chewing on it to see if it's edible.

Apparently, it was more than edible...but didn't last long. The next day Peter was back to being hungry again, with no food in his fridge and an aching stomach. His long trudge to the homeless shelter certainly didn't help matters either.

Peter shuffled inside the familiar building, trying his best to ignore the rumble of hunger consuming him. The room was relatively large, with chairs and tables lined up for the daily visitors. The scent of cheap soup filled the air and Peter groaned. The irony of a starving man serving starving people wasn't lost on him.

"Peter!" The somewhat weakened voice of his aunt called from across the threshold. She wobbled towards him, smiling brightly and pulling him into a tight embrace. It had been at least a few weeks since he'd last seen her; college, work, and the Spider-Man gig kept him busier than he cared to admit. He felt incredibly guilty about not visiting her more often, but May always insisted that she was fine...whether that was a lie or not Peter couldn't tell. "It's so good to see you!"

"You too, Aunt May." Peter replied with a twinge of regret. He needed to get back into a weekly visiting schedule, despite how little time he had. "Look, I promise I'm gonna get my act together and come see you more often."

"Oh don't be silly. As much as I would like to chain you to my coffee table, it is very clear to me that you are a young man with a job and a college career. I'm so very proud of you, Peter. I wouldn't want you to waste time worrying about little old me." She said, gripping Peter by the shoulders. Knowing full well that Peter was about to argue with her, she quickly moved on. "Anyway, that little Kevin from across the street's shown me how to use my cell phone. The wretched thing's been a paperweight for four years now, but I can finally call you whenever I like."

"Cell phone? What happened to the landline?"

"Well...it was another thing I couldn't afford to have. Not that I needed it in the first place; Mary Jane's Aunt Anna is the only person I talk to these days and she's just around the corner."

As his Aunt pulled away, Peter's gaze lowered. May had been struggling financially ever since Uncle Ben's death. It pained him to see her barely sustaining herself in this last stage of life...she deserved to be comfortable, but she was constantly in debt and never able to dig her way out of it.

Now, at this stage you might be saying 'Hey, that's really sad. Where are the jokes?'. There are none when it comes to his Aunt May. She is a completely no joke zone.

"What happened to you and Mary Jane anyway?" May asked with concern glimmering in her eyes. No matter how many years past, those eyes never changed; as if all of her youth had not disappeared, but simply been captured in the watercoloured irises. "Anna and I were certain that we'd be attending a wedding soon."

"We were just going down different paths..." Peter sighed at the thought. He had adored MJ, but it was never going to work between them. The constant danger drew them apart, despite Mary-Jane's strong facade, and they were ultimately just too different. He would always care for her, of course, but they could never allow it to reach beyond the borders of friendship again. "And you don't need to pretend like Anna was upset. I know she was happy to hear that we broke up."

Aunt May's kind gaze grew conflicted, and yet she still tried to spare Peter's feelings. "Don't be ridiculous, she was very upset about it."

Peter's aunt rarely lied, and whenever she did it was like watching a five year-old trying to get away with eating all of the cookies or something. It was definitely cute, how adamantly she tried to defend Peter's self-esteem, but it never truly succeeded. "Don't even try it. That woman never liked me... Besides, MJ already told me how overjoyed her aunt was."

May pursed her lips, clearly uncertain about how to respond. It was true, Anna had a deeply embedded dislike for Peter. She thought that he was irresponsible (probably due to the fact that he was never on time for anything) and unworthy of her niece...it had been a great point of conflict within her friendship with May. Still, they had somehow managed to remain close. "I wouldn't quite use the word 'overjoyed'..."

"Forget it, Aunt May. It doesn't matter anymore." Peter said with relative indifference. One of the only positive things about his break up with MJ was that he no longer had to deal with her Aunt Anna. Seriously, he could almost cry tears of joy at the thought. "When do we start serving the food?"

"In a few minutes." May smiled. "Thank you for coming. You'll be in the kitchen with me, but there's a little donation booth right next to us if you want to help out a little more. If you see someone come in with something to donate, just duck over there to take it off their hands."

Peter nodded and followed his aunt to the kitchen...though he had really wanted to ask if college students counted as homeless, and if they did, if he could snag a bowl of soup - the science major had to practically wrestle this question away from his mouth as they prepared to serve.

The line was long. It swivelled around the room and tumbled out the door. With every person that approached him, Peter managed to maintain some semblance of dignity. He'd smile, take the bowl from their hands, pour the soup, then hand the steaming bowl of deliciousness back with a cheery 'enjoy'...but on the inside he was dying. His eyes were watering as the smell of food hit his senses, and his stomach was practically growing arms just so that it could claw its way out of his body and towards the soup.

Okay, that may have been a bit of an exaggeration, but the main point was that Peter was hungry. Really, really hungry. In fact, he may have even snuck a bite if he didn't get distracted by a laundry pile with legs. Yes, you read that right. Coming through the door at that very moment was a towering stack of clothing, but it moved with the limbs of a human being...or maybe someone was carrying the clothes but, let's be honest, that's exponentially less interesting.

So, with that in mind, the sentient mound of fabric wobbled towards the donation booth. Peter shuffled away from the kitchen and propped himself behind the booth with an almost eerie smile. "Here to donate?"

From behind this monstrosity of brightly coloured material a girl appeared. Well, half of her face did at least. She had somehow managed to glance around the heavy pile to greet the man at the booth. Their eyes met, and she smiled. "Hi, Peter!"

Peter blushed like a leaf in the middle of Autumn. The last person that he had expected to see today was Annabelle Lee...and now he was a nervous wreck. Suddenly, all the composure that he had maintained during the day had disappeared.

"I had a lot of extra clothes in my closet." Belle spoke and the world shattered around him like a snowglobe. "I thought that maybe someone else could enjoy them as much as I did."

She was looking right at him. Those misty spheres of sapphire and kyanite had locked him in place, completely speechless. His mind was muttering curses to itself over and over and over again. He hadn't brushed his hair...why hadn't he brushed his hair today? It probably looked like a rats nest, or a bundle of dry hay, or even a messy ball of cotton. One of them...any of them...all of them. It didn't matter, he looked dishevelled regardless.

"What are you doing here anyway, Peter?" Annabelle asked, shifting her arms beneath the stack of clothing to ensure that she didn't drop it.

Immediately noticing this, Peter basically yanked the massive pile out of her arms. It wasn't heavy, at least to him, but it was definitely impressive that Belle had been able to carry it for so long. "I'm...uh...just helping out my aunt."

"Really? That's nice of you." Belle hummed, and Peter had to put down the pile of clothing before his trembling hands dropped the whole lot of it.

The clothing was exactly what you would expect from someone like Annabelle; colours so bright that they blinded you on sight, and all with weird designs that either looked too old or too young for someone in college. He supposed that most people living on the streets wouldn't much care about what the clothes actually looked like, but it was still notable all the same. There were even some leggings that were glittery, like a child's art project, and shoes that had butterfly wings moulded into the sides.

"Th-Thanks for bringing these in." Peter forced the words out of his dry throat, but they were croaky and trembly when they finally reached the air. "I'm sure they'll help a lot of people."

An important note to make here is that Aunt May could always tell when Peter was struggling; especially when that involved a girl. Granted, it was much worse when he was younger. He'd even thrown up once after trying to talk to his first girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. This time, however, he was simply shifting around on the spot nervously, and May couldn't help but saunter towards the scene.

"Who's your friend, Peter?" She asked, and as far as Peter was concerned she was his hero. If she hadn't shown up he definitely would have found a way to embarrass himself...not that he hadn't done that already. May glanced at Belle's floral, completely ancient shirt and grinned. Clearly, she had the same fashion sense...maybe Johnny was right when he said Belle dressed like an old woman...

"This is...well, she's...um..." Peter muttered. Annabelle was staring directly at him and that was completely ruining his concentration.

"I'm Annabelle." The girl answered, evidently noticing Peter's incompetence. "We're in the same literature class."

May's expression morphed into one of surprise. "Literature? Peter always hated English in high school."

"It was the only unit that fit in with my timetable..." Peter sighed. He truly regretted taking Education Studies as a minor. It was the reason he was stuck in a class about confusing plays and corny poetry. Though he supposed it wasn't all bad, after all, it was the reason that he had met Annabelle.

"You really don't like English? I thought you said you were enjoying the unit material..."

Peter's complexion turned ashen. Let this be a lesson, kids, never lie to your crush. You just end up looking like a major douchebag when they finally figure it out.

This awkward moment seemed to stretch into infinity. Peter's mind was running through possible excuses, but that was cut short when a loud crashing sound screeched through the room. A window had been smashed into pieces by a bright ball of light. It shivered through the air...and trashed everything within its path. Screams of fright and bewilderment echoed from the panicking civilians as they hid beneath tables and behind furniture.

Peter huffed in irritation. He knew exactly what this was...and he was once again bitter about the fact that he couldn't get through one day without something ruining it. The light brightened, blindingly so, and anyone that was caught staring at it was consumed by darkness.

"I...I can't see!" May yelled in horror, hands reaching out to search for her nephew. "Peter, where are you?"

As Annabelle turned at the sound, she found that Peter was gone. Like, he had literally just vanished into thin air...or he had run away. Belle scoffed in disbelief. Peter Parker had ditched his own aunt in fear, and that knowledge filled her with dislike. Up until this moment she had been relatively fond of Peter; he seemed like a decent enough guy, and she didn't mind the prospect of being friends...but now she would never look at him the same way.

"May, is it?" She whispered, reaching her hands out and securing them on the old woman's shoulders. "He's fine. He's gone to get help."

Just as this lie left her lips something swung into view. A vision of red and blue tights, standing defensively in front of her and May... Spider-Man.

"I knew you'd show up if I trashed enough places, Spider Loser." The ball of light spoke. "And this time you will not triumph against, Will o' the Wisp!"

At this very moment many of you will be realising that the title of this horrible chapter was, in fact, not a typo. Others will be wondering why the narrator is introducing yet another obscure character instead of injecting the forced romance. Well, he's only here for one reason; to make sense of the cringingly unfunny title. Unfortunately for our friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, that also means demolishing any hope of having a normal day...and making him look like a coward in front of the girl he likes - but hey, it was worth it.

"Why do all you criminals feel the need to declare yourselves whenever you appear?" Spidey quipped, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "And why is it always in bold like some comic book strip?"

"Enough talk. I was locked away for a long time because of you, I'm here to return the favour." The bundle of light increased to unbelievable levels...but Spider-Man continued to look directly at him. "What the hell? You should not be able to gaze upon me for so long without burning your retinas..."

Spidey smirked underneath his mask. "I got new lenses. You think I would just wait for you to break out and temporarily blind me again? I'm offended that you think I'm that stupid."

The Wisp grumbled in fury, and in the span of two seconds, he had transformed from an ethereal ball of light to a solidly-built man that looked as if he'd pounced right out of the 70s. He had long, flowing blonde locks and a green suit that left nothing to the imagination. "It doesn't matter. Defeating you will be much too easy."

"Yeah that's what you said last time, Wispy." Spider-Man retorted with a dull tone. He really was getting tired of all these one-off villains showing up. Emphasis on 'on-off' because most of them probably won't show up again, let's be honest.

A fight was about to ensue, that much was clear. It could have been a battle for the ages, one to be passed down with the likes of Ultron...but more likely, it was just going to be a filler fight; created to compensate for the fact that his name was used in the title. Strap in for a completely mediocre clash of two decently powered beings...in the next chapter.


	13. Thirteen

**_Chapter Thirteen: The Wind In The Will o'_**

Let this chapter be prefaced by the statement that there are unfortunately no frogs here today. Those of you who got the title reference will now revel in appreciation of such a terrible joke, and those who don't will question the quality of this story and maybe think about reading another Spidey story. I have a recommendation for you, read the one with Tony Stark's daughter as the OC. What was that? There are literally thousands of stories like that? Well, never fear. I can guarantee you that this is the only place where you shall behold the blinding (and quite frankly surprising) might of the winsome Will O The Wisp!

A rather Spider-Man-shaped projectile was thrown into the side of a bus with enough blunt force to turn a regular dude into mush, shattering the windows and shaking the thing down to its tyres.

Screams pierced the air as panicked civilians leapt out of the wrecked vehicle, leaving a discombobulated Peter to recover from that ridiculous blow.

"Ow." He sighed. Contrary to what first impressions may suggest, Will o' The Wisp was actually a heavy hitter. He had the ability to alter his molecular density; an incredibly deadly force on its own, but coupled with gravitational negation and light manipulation, it was a cocktail of destruction. Alright now that the fancy wordplay is done, he can make himself heavier without getting fatter, he can fly, and he can shoot lights out of his hands.

Think about a beach ball and a bowling ball. They can be around the same size, but you would prefer to be hit in the head with a beach ball because it is mostly air. A bowling bowl is hard and heavy because it is molecularly dense, so yes you would lose quite a few brain cells and maybe die. Will o' can make himself dense on command, meaning that he can actually hurt Spidey.

Will o' came hurtling forward with his fist raised, but he wasn't counting on Peter's trusty Spider Sense to give him a heads up. Spidey shot a web line into Will o's face and tugged it downward. The villain was pummelled into the pavement face first as Peter flipped through the air and landed a two-footed stomp on his back.

The guy snarled a bit, probably because it hurt, but Peter was already on the move. Another bound followed, and he raised both hands to fire webs onto the wrecked bus that his ass just made a hole in. Gritting his teeth and giving it everything he had, he tugged like he never tugged before.

He pulled the bus towards him, the midsection of it slamming straight into Will o's face.

Spidey landed, feeling a little good about himself, but it wasn't to last. Will o' slowly started getting up.

However, figures on the side of the street caught his eye. It was Annabelle...and Aunt May. His heart froze in his chest. "Hey, ladies!" He called.

"U-Us?" Annabelle mouthed.

Spidey hollered "Get yourselves to safety!"

He felt his heartrate slow as Annabelle and May rushed along with the crowds. However, The Wisp roared "You are nothing to me, insect!"

"I'm...an arachnid actually." Spidey muttered lowly.

The Wisp lunged forward like a human missile, further increasing his molecular density. Peter was slammed in the chest by the hundreds of kilograms of force, and felt some of his ribs give way. Yay.

Will o' swept a fist across Spidey's face, shattering one of his polarised eye pieces that protected him from the light emissions.

"Me and my big mouth." Peter coughed.

"I'm going to squash you like the bug you are."

Peter, tasting blood in his mouth, used his lesser-known super power here in this desperate time; the ability to make stupid, unfunny jokes at very inappropriate times that could result in his very painful demise. "How...very original. And I can see that you're miss-classifying me once again as an insect. I feel personally attacked, and I don't appreciate this attitude at all."

True to his word, Will o' heightened his density and swung his fists towards the red-draped hero. Spidey jumped backward, only barely avoiding the villains rampage. His heavy fists crashed against the ground and the pavement cracked beneath them. Damn. Peter could almost feel the weight of those punches jolting in his bones. Could bones break just from watching the ground split apart? Peter certainly hoped not.

Just as the criminal was preparing to sprint towards Spider-Man, something fell from the sky. It flipped and jiggled, then finally broke against the dense head of Will o' the Wisp - coating him in thick green goo.

"Oi! Bon Jovi!" A familiar voice pierced the sanctity of Peter's mind. He groaned, loudly, not even caring enough to hide his disappointment. It was Protonslaught. The worst hero...no, scratch that. The worst person to ever exist. "Don't touch that bug!"

"...Both of you guys need to repeat first grade science. Spiders have eight legs, and are therefore not insects."

"You have two legs." Protonslaught remarked dryly.

Peter, despite his somewhat serious injuries, simply glanced at her, then back at the ground. "Well, you're not wrong."

"Enough with this endless bickering." The Wisp snarled as he became intangible, allowing the strange goop that Protonslaught dropped on his head to pass through his body seamlessly. He then reappeared in his corporeal form as he continued "You're so distracted that you need this stunted imbecile to help you? She's done nothing but make a fool of herself and keep you all busy."

Protonslaught seemed to twitch at the insults. "...Hey, he's supposed to be talking shit about me, not you." She said, pointing at Spidey.

"Inept and easily offended. How repulsive." The Wisp snapped.

Protonslaught leapt forward, and Peter's eyes widened in shock. Will o' wasn't a joke like Stilt-Man or the Kangaroo...he could give some of the Avengers a rough time. She was going to get flattened in a second. "Wait, don't!" He cried.

The Wisp and Protonslaught locked hands as they attempted to wrangle each other, but Peter spied something odd. There seemed to be some kind of fluctuation at where they touched each other...like their cells were resonating.

Will o' tore an arm free and punched Protonslaught in the gut, and the completely reverse of what should've happened; she didn't get thrown down the street. It was a little anti-climactic actually. It kind of impacted like a normal punch.

"Ah fuck!" Protonslaught hissed. She twirled, then inadvertently tossed The Wisp into a nearby building. He went ploughing through several solid concrete walls.

Spidey gripped the sides of his head in shock. You could see the light bulb that suddenly flicked on above his head. "Holy crap on a cracker!"

Protonslaught didn't seem to understand what exactly she did, so she glanced over at Peter with this clueless look on her face. "Huh...?" She quietly mused.

Peter hurried over to her. "You...you have some kind of control over atoms and molecules! That's why you can make stuff, and why when Wispy altered his mass while you were in physical contact, your cells followed the same instructions! Where you should've been flung twenty metres away, you didn't budge...and you were able to throw him like a tennis ball."

Her eyes widened. "You figured out what I can do? How...wait...a-are you saying that I can actually beat this guy?"

"I'm saying that you're even more powerful than that guy. Just focus on...on being as immovable as possible. Maybe you can influence your mass through thought."

Protonslaught nervously hopped up and down. "O-Okay. I can do that. Yeah...y-yeah, I can."

So, the leather-bound hero conjured images in her mind of solid objects; rocks, brass, the icicle that Captain America was found in. You know, normal everyday things. Then, she thought of mountains - giant, immovable things so connected to the land that they could not be pushed away from it. Protonslaught imagined what it would feel like to be that unshakable.

Will o' the Wisp appeared from the destroyed wall, a scowl on his face that said 'I haven't realised how screwed I am yet'. He severely altered his body's density, so much so that every step left a hole in the street. He threw a punch, and his fist was so heavy that it lagged a little slower than before. It made contact with Protonslaught's jaw...but she didn't budge. It was like watching a child punch a Boulder with all of their might - his wrist was forced backwards until it made an irrefutable 'crack'.

The Wisp cried out in a heady mixture of surprise and pain, a sound that was swiftly cut short by Protonslaught's retaliating punch. This time he wasn't just sent through one building...he went pummelling through several. I know that sounds like a lot of brick walls but don't worry. He didn't die. He was strong enough to take it...and his death doesn't fit the narrative so let's just say, for convenience's sake, that he was knocked out. If you think that's a little lame, then just remember that you were warned about the mediocrity of this battle before reading it.

"I... I did it!" Protonslaught cheered. "Did you see that?! I beat him with one punch!"

At this point, as the reader, you're probably expecting Peter to be mildly annoyed by Protonslaught's cocky and careless attitude. Perhaps you're thinking that our responsible and well-meaning Spider-Man will swiftly remind the cheering girl that Will o' the Wisp was not someone to be taken lightly...he did none of these things.

Instead, Spider-Man seemed just as excited as Protonslaught was. He was a science nerd, after all, it came with the territory. "That's incredible! I thought you were just some second-rate magician, but this...this is unlike anything I've ever seen before. It looks like you can use atomic transmutation to sense and manipulate matter!"

At his science-heavy explanation, Protonslaught's smile wavered and a nervous laugh took its place. "Yeah...I hit him really hard..."

Spidey would have been gobsmacked by this idiotic response, but he was used to it by now. Whenever he started speaking even a little bit scientifically, the people around him acted as if it was an entirely different language. "Do you not understand what that means? You could make anything you wanted! You've been struggling to control your powers because manipulating atoms to reform themselves is...well, it's insane! It should be too difficult for anyone that doesn't understand the intricacies, but you've managed to create things based on pure willpower."

Peter was amazed. Suddenly, he had a whole new respect for Protonslaught. Her will must have been immense to create the things that he had seen in the past... I mean, if this were DC, a Green Lantern ring would be sparkling on her finger at this very moment.

"You really know a lot about this stuff, don't you?" Protonslaught hummed curiously. "Maybe you could teach me! Like a tutor!"

Peter's expression finally fell beneath the mask. He couldn't imagine anything that he would want to do less than spend more time with this loon. "No. Absolutely not."

The woman frowned. "Do you remember that tree accident? I almost hurt those two people, dude, and that will happen a lot more often if you don't help me."

Gah. She just had to appeal to his sense of responsibility (take another shot), didn't she? He hated to admit it but she was right. Her abilities were complex, and suddenly he couldn't completely blame her for struggling to control them. "I don't exactly have a lot of spare time on my hands..."

"I'm sure we'll find time." Protonslaught insisted and Spidey could no longer argue against her. If this avoided the madness that usually followed whenever she appeared, then he was willing to help...that doesn't mean that he was particularly thrilled about it but, hey, this is Peter Parker. He never gets what he wants anyway.


	14. Fourteen

**_Chapter Fourteen: The One Where It Suddenly Gets Serious For A Bit_**

The moon fled eastward like a frightened dove, while the stars changed their places in the heavens, like a disbanding army. A soft breeze settled around Harry Osborn's shoulders as he walked into the cemetery. That same breeze made the world around him shiver a little bit. The slick green leaves of the tall trees rustled, and the long curtain of ivy dangling from the branches began to wave. When the ivy blew in the graveyard, it casted the prettiest lacelike shadows on the ground. They reminded Harry of banners, rippling over the dearly departed in silence.

Tombstones covered the dale, the smooth marble surfaces shimmering in the moonlight. He spent most of his spare time here , though not out of any awareness of mortality. Like every young adult, he intended to live forever. Instead, he was here to visit someone. A voice screeching in the back of his head. A missing piece of his soul. His father, Norman Osborn.

He lay there beneath the insect-infested dirt, a visage of white bone licked clean by the maggots that had wiggled their way into the coffin. At least, that's how Harry imagined it. The thought alone made him feel somewhat lost. He had never been close to his father. Norman had been the typical 'rich dad that didn't have time for him'. In fact, for most of his life, Harry was certain that his own father favoured Peter as a son; he was a brilliant student, unlike Harry, and understood the work that Oscorp did on a much deeper level.

Harry had always craved his father's attention. There were even a few times when he wished death upon the man that neglected him...but when that finally happened it almost broke him. No matter how feeble their relationship was, Harry still loved his father. It was something he didn't realise until it was too late.

Harry tucked his hands into his pockets, staring at the marble angel that hovered above his father's grave. It was kept cleaner than anything in that entire cemetery; apparently money can get you a pretty decent grave...but how much would that lone statue mean once his name was lost to the ages?

Shh. Did you hear that? A rustling in the wind that was shivering to life? It was a voice. A low one that was almost inaudible beneath the dreadfully eerie scenery. An Osborn. Not Harry. Another. The ghost that clawed it's way out of the rotted flesh of Norman Osborn's corpse.

You disappoint me, Harry.

The phantom whispered this to the stillness of the graveyard, and the dirt that entrapped him pushed his voice forth. Into the world of the living. Into Harry's very soul.

The boy didn't jump, nor did he quake with fright. He smiled. A crooked, maniacal smile. The voice of his father had finally returned. It had been almost an entire week since it's last visit. He thought that his father had abandoned him again...but no, he was wrong. Norman would never leave. They were connected by blood, and as long as it still pulsed through Harry's veins, Norman's voice would call to him.

"Father..." Harry almost sighed in relief. It had been so horribly quiet without his father's presence. "I know. I'm sorry, I'll try visit more often."

The formless voice laughed. It laughed so hard that it almost broke the barriers of Harry's mind.

I couldn't care less if you visit the grave of an empty shell. I'm not here anymore, I'm with you. That's why I'm disappointed, Harry. I've watched, helpless, as you run my company into the ground.

Harry's breath hitched. "B-But...our profits have-"

Money has nothing to do with it! You've watched as those buffoons buried my work! Revolutionary discoveries, all dismissed because you haven't been paying attention!

Harry fell to his knees, and blades of grass glued themselves to the pants of his navy blue suit. "I...I'm sorry..."

Don't be sorry. Be better. Continue my work. Use it to capture my killer... Spider-Man.

Harry nodded, slowly, and kept doing so as if he were afraid that a demon might drag him down to the seven circles of hell if he stopped. The wind was chilling his cheeks with a bluish tint, but he was more concerned about that marble angel. It seemed to be staring at him now with hollow, lifeless eyes. His father's eyes.

————————————-

Oh, how cerebral and mysterious. Did you enjoy that? That macabre meander through the mind of a misguided maniac? Did you enjoy the attempt at decent literature? Good, because now we abandon it entirely to travel through space and time itself to rejoin our friend Peter Parker as his life is told to you through the use of poop jokes, constant half-hearted attempts at humour, and a fourth wall that does not exist on any fabric of reality whatsoever so, actually, there isn't even a fourth wall. It is a lie.

The football game was about to begin, not that Peter cared in the slightest. He had already practically stuffed his backpack full of free sweets and chips, as well as maintaining a hotdog in either hand. He would take a bite out of the left one, then the right, then the left again. He would do this until both those handfuls of bunned goodness were entirely consumed...then he'd go and retrieve two more.

Some may say that he was taking advantage of the good nature of his college for supplying free food...and they'd be absolutely right. He was also partaking in a little thing called 'stress eating'. He arrived ten minutes late, which was still earlier than usual, but Belle was nowhere to be found. Considering how impossible it was to lose the brightly coloured and unusually happy girl in a crowd, he was starting to think that she had forgotten all about him.

Well, she certainly wouldn't be the first...

As he wandered through the bleachers, Peter was starting to feel an anxious knot lodge itself in his throat. It was almost enough to distract him from the sight of Flash Thompson nearby...almost.

It'a impossible to describe the disappointment that ravaged Peter's mind at the sight. He hadn't considered that the people their college football team were versing could have included Flash...suddenly the free food just didn't seem worth the headache.

He could hear Flash arguing with one of his teammates. They were insisting that Captain America was the greatest hero the world had ever seen, and Flash was calling him a moron...saying that Spider-Man could beat him within an inch of his life. Peter rolled his eyes. Flash had always been a bully, and somehow maintained a strange respect for the webbed hero despite his own ego.

Flash's gaze flickered upward. "Hey, what's the loser doing here?!"

Peter groaned. He really didn't feel like dealing with Flash today...not that he ever felt like it.

Flash's expression twisted into one of amusement. One that said 'I'm going to punch Peter Parker in his stupid face'...you know, if expressions could talk. Which they can't. Let's not rule anything out though. Then, he started lumbering towards Peter. Not walking or marching. Lumbering, like a damn giant.

Without a second to waste, Peter dashed in the opposite direction. Sure, he could probably take Flash on and make him look like the idiot he had always been...but the secretly powerful nerd had to maintain the illusion that he couldn't even tie his own shoelaces properly. It was a burden that came with the Spider-Man gig. He had to lose every fight outside of the suit, despite his ability to win.

He had just rounded the corner when he felt something tug him beneath the bleachers. He flailed, but managed to stop himself from fighting back as Flash ran right passed him. The towering idiot didn't even think to look under there.

Peter sighed, but that relief was swiftly stolen away when he turned to see the paint-smudged face of Annabelle Lee. She practically squeezed the air back out of his lungs, which was totally rude by the way.

"I... I thought you forgot about today." Peter mumbled nervously, noticing the hotdog grasped in Annabelle's hand. It was covered in ketchup and grilled onions. "I mean, I'm glad you didn't because I'm pretty sure I'm failing this literature unit."

Annabelle, who was usually so incredibly joyful that it was almost strange, was now staring at him with dull and almost disappointed eyes. She took a bite out of her hotdog, and the ketchup dripped down onto her shirt. She didn't seem to care. In fact, once she was done chewing her food, she wiped the sauce off her shirt with her index finger and licked it away.

"Are...you okay?" Peter asked, starting to become concerned with her silent eating.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Peter." Belle started, and those words already filled him with anticipation...not the good kind. "I said that I'd help you with this unit, and I will, but I want to get this over with as soon as possible."

Peter's heart sunk. Audibly. In fact, the last sound that you heard was Peter's death; whether it be a nursery rhyme or a computer modem. Don't question that statement, it just was. "Did I do something to upset you?"

"I'm...very opinionated when it comes to family." She admitted, and there was a blaze of sorrow in her eyes that almost drowned Peter entirely. "I understand that not everyone has a good upbringing, and that's why it's even more important to protect the people that raised you right. Your aunt was always good to you, wasn't she? That's the vibe I got at least..."

"Yeah, of course." Peter answered immediately. "She's...the best person I know."

"So why did you abandon her when that weird 'Wisp' guy showed up?"

There it was. The all too common misunderstanding that came from being Spider-Man. It always happened, and there was never a good enough excuse that didn't make him look like a jerk. "I... I remembered that I had...an essay to do...?"

Annabelle's eyes narrowed in confusion and Peter debated jumping off a bridge somewhere. "We were being attacked by a man that could turn into a ball of light, and you thought that was an appropriate time to leave your aunt and do your essay?"

"...Yeah." It was at this moment that Peter resigned himself to the fact that Annabelle Lee would despise him forever. He couldn't blame her either. This entire situation made him look like one of the worst people to have ever lived. Well...maybe not worse than Hitler, but still pretty bad.

"Look, I understand that you were scared. I just don't understand why you didn't take her with you..." Belle murmured, then took a deep breath and buried the dismay into the back of her mind. "Sorry, I never should have mentioned it. Let's just start studying."

Annabelle stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. He could see clearly now that her entire outfit was splashed with green and blue paint, just like her face. It made his chest ache. He wanted to know what she had been painting, but he doubted that she'd want him to ask. Not now...maybe not ever.


	15. Fifteen

**_Chapter Fifteen: It's Not Slander If It's In Print_**

"Parker!" The incredibly loud and _very _Russian voice of Peter's landlord, Mr. Ditkovich, pierced the foggy morning. Wait...was that fog or cigar smoke? It _did _have a funny smell to it. Let's just say it was fog to set the mood. "Do you hev rent?"

Peter cringed internally. He had hoped to sneak passed without being noticed but, just as luck would have it, he had tripped over the cheap rug on the journey to his apartment. That was enough to alert Ditkovich of his presence.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ditkovich..." Peter muttered, pulling himself from the dusty floor and scowling at a lump of gum that had become attached to his pants. "My pay's running a little late this week. The lab had to buy more-"

"I don't want excuse. I cennot spend excuse, yes? Why you not payink rent? I want rent." The man stated so quickly that it almost made Peter dizzy. "Do you hev? Yes or no?"

"...N-No."

The landlord's expression dropped to one of annoyance. "You not giff me rent tomorrow, I keel you. No more stoppink rent, yes?"

"But that's not enough time-" Peter's words were swiftly drowned out by the sound of the landlord's door slamming in his face. Apparently, this wasn't negotiable. Nothing ever was in Peter's life...

The exhausted college student began to slunk towards his room with a brand new dose of anxiety. At this stage, he just couldn't seem to get off the stuff. Anxiety, that is. As soon as his body had flushed itself of the jittering nerves of his every day life, a new problem would crash into his lap (nearly breaking his legs) and giving him another hit of that all-consuming stress. He thought that he might die from it one day. His heart would just...stop working under the pressure.

While that would be a shocking scene to display, dear readers, today was _not _the day that Peter Parker died. Today was, instead, the day that he made it to his room without incident, then proceeded to hyperventilate into his pillow for a solid minute or so.

He had barely been scraping by on the rent as it was, so he knew that this day would come eventually... He just tried not to think about it. That meant that he had no backup plan. He couldn't ask Aunt May because she was knee-deep in dept already, and he didn't want to make her worry. On basic principle he couldn't ask Johnny or Harry because...well...he just knew that he'd regret it. Mary Jane was completely out of the question as well. She would definitely help him without question, and that was exactly why he _couldn't. _

Peter's gaze flickered to the newspaper that was strategically placed on his wobbly bedside table. Massive font scrolled over the front reading 'The Daily Bugle' and then right below it, as if teasing Peter in his moment of weakness, were the words 'Spider-Man: Threat or Menace?'.

Peter groaned. He used to take pictures for them in High School...all of Spider-Man, of course, which meant that he had to perfectly position his camera and pose both dramatically and inconspicuously. It was a lot harder than it sounded. Surprisingly enough the worst part wasn't timing the picture with his fast-paced swing, nor ensuring that the shot was in focus. It was the way that The Daily Bugle warped his images to spread blatant lies. They had never written a kind word about Spider-Man. Not even one.

So, he could probably earn a few extra bucks by handing over a Spider-Man photo but what would it cost? His dignity. Peter didn't want to help spread propaganda about his alter-ego...

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"What did you use to take these, a Game Boy?" Jonah Jameson remarked as he flicked through Peter's photos.

Peter was just wondering if Jameson somehow knew about that weird Game Boy Camera accessory, or if he was just being his normal stupid self and making bad jokes.

Jameson squished the butt of his cigar into his ashtray as he barked "My niece has a better camera than you, Parker."

"This is the best I can afford, Mister Jameson. Student...remember?" Peter replied, holding back some of that Spidey sass so he'd have something to throw at the next villain of the week that was scheduled to show up right about now.

"Baloney! When I was your age, I got by on a pay check of ten dollars a week. Ten dollars!"

Peter highly doubted that anybody would write a check for ten dollars, even back in the Cretaceous period.

"You kids don't have enough discipline. You need to save."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You want my pictures?"

Jameson frowned. "...I'll give you a hundred bucks for all ten."

"A hundred bucks? The Gazette would give me two-fifty for the donut theft one alone."

"Oh, pushing for a deal, Parker? Fifty for the lot."

"Okay. I'll just take them somewhere else, and they can run the exclusive about how he stole that guy's donut." Peter bluffed with a smirk. He knew that they loved publishing anything that could make Spider-Man look like a felon. Donut theft was definitely on that list...though granted he hadn't actually stolen that donut. It was given to him by a nice old lady he'd helped cross the street. They probably didn't care about that little detail because, apparently, the truth didn't sell papers.

"Four hundred! That's my final offer!" Jameson snapped

Peter slapped the photos onto the desk and yelled "Done."

"Don't slap my desk. It's mahogany." Jameson muttered.

As the Bugle's publisher pulled a wad of cash out of his drawer, a familiar man opened the door to Jameson's office. It was Eddie Brock, face covered in a thick layer of 'kill me now'. "Brock, is this your office?" Snarled Jameson.

Eddie sighed "No, boss."

"Oh, that's news to me. I just saw you sauntering in here like you own the damn place." Jameson jabbed as he handed the cash to Peter, whose mouth was watering at the very sight of such a large amount of money.

"Just wanted to tell ya I sent my copy through to the Dropbox." Brock muttered as he crossed his arms and leant onto the wall.

Peter's nerd sense tingled; the mention of anything more advanced than a laserdisc player at the Bugle wasn't exactly commonplace. He exclaimed "Dropbox? When did you guys set up a Dropbox? I've been telling them to do that for ages."

"Yeah I dunno, kid. I'd rather turn it in personally." Brock sighed.

"Do you have any idea what this means? It means that I don't need to come in here for my money anymore."

"Aw isn't that sweet? Get the hell out of my office before I cry myself to death." Cried Jameson.

Eddie and Peter slunk out of Jameson's office as he viciously slammed the door on them. Peter stuffed his cash into his wallet and turned his attention to Eddie's lack of...well, a soul. "Rough day?"

"Just got off a flight from New Jersey, covered those robot cop things from ARGENT."

"Wait...the COBRAs?"

"Yeah, something like that." He muttered, slumping himself into the chair at his cubicle. "Interviewed the lead engineer...she was terrible."

Peter leant onto the cubicle wall and said "Jo Kimble? She's meant to be one of the greatest mechanical engineers like...ever."

"She stinks and I don't like her. Made me look like an idiot on the interview, and the director wants to upload it anyway. So hooray, everyone's gonna have to see me try to deal with one-word answers and complicated technical jargon."

Despite their many differences, Peter couldn't help but relate to how Eddie was just made the laughing stock of New York thanks to the Bugle - then forced to deal with it because, well, it made them money. "Yeah...I can relate to that."

Suddenly, Robbie Robertson, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, came skidding down the hallway and pointed at Eddie. "Good to see you, Eddie. It's the two year anniversary of Hexterminator's disappearance. I need you to come up with a retrospective, maybe even trace some new leads."

"Wait...I'm sorry, _Hexterminator_?" Peter laughed.

Robbie furrowed his brow and replied "The poor girl vanished without a trace two years ago, Peter."

"Oh...sorry..." Peter muttered.

"Chief, I'm sick of going back to that piece. I can do more than fluff." Brock argued.

Robbie shook his head. "I'm sorry Ed, but with Jonah getting those new Spidey shots from Pete, they're naturally going to be the page one. So we need...a supplement."

"A filler. You need a filler." Eddie hissed.

Peter swallowed. "Uh...maybe I should leave now."

And he did. He left with the sound of Eddie's shattering self-esteem lingering behind him. It was hard to feel too bad for the guy though, after all, Eddie was still going home to MJ at the end of the day. Peter frowned. He still didn't like the thought of her dating anyone else...despite the fact that he had also drawn his attention towards someone else. That might sound pretty selfish, and maybe it was, but...no. It _was _selfish. He had no excuse.

Peter dug his hands into his pockets (which were riddled with holes so they couldn't actually fulfill their purpose), and kicked a pebble on the ground. This pebble, as if in direct spite of Peter, bounced along the pavement and cut right through a group of young girls who all squealed as if it were a flying insect.

"S-Sorry!" Peter called out, earning an annoyed glare from the clique. They marched off without a word and Peter was almost relieved. Knowing his luck, that could have been a lot worse.

"Turn away, treacherous termites, from the terrifying temperament of Typeface!"

Okay, never mind, it just got worse.

That awful attempt at alliteration could only mean one thing - Typeface was on the loose. Yes, folks, he is our obligatory villain of the week. I know what you're all thinking, 'when do the cool villains show up?', well, not yet. First Peter's spirit has to be completely crashed under the weight of Typeface's vocabulary.

In the distance Peter could see a waft of smoke circling into the cloudy sky. It was dark, and thick, and flooded the streets with a grey haze. It didn't take a genius to deduct that Typeface had something to do with it.

By the time Peter had managed to find a nicely secluded alley to strip into his Spider-Man suit, the smoke had only grown thicker. He pulled his mask down; mind racing with possibilities. What in the world was going on? Was the city on fire? Were they holding a really massive barbecue that Typeface decided to crash? It could have been anything.

Unfortunately for Peter, this discovery was slightly delayed when he heard his phone ringing. You may be wondering what his ringtone was...well, it was Franzl Lang. An avid yodeller. Uncle Ben had been a massive fan. Though, granted, it may have sounded a bit strange coming from a college student's cell.

For the 100% of you that don't know this song, you're missing out. He has a giant brush on his head and looks beyond pleased with himself. If it doesn't give you any joy then you have no soul...that's Peter speaking not me.

Anyway, our masked hero jostled through his backpack to pull out his badly battered phone and saw the name 'May ️' pop up on the screen. This probably wasn't the most opportune time to answer, but Peter had made a vow to never reject his aunt's phone calls. He had enough regrets in his life, he didn't want that to be one of them.

"H-Hey, Aunt May." Peter stuttered, throwing his backpack onto a nearby roof and swinging towards the fire. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to know how your studies are going." She said, and he could hear the faint scratching of a metal knife against a chopping board. It seemed like she was in the middle of making herself some lunch. She always called him during meal hours. Maybe because she was still getting used to eating alone...Peter's stomach churned with guilt. Sometimes he joined her, but ever since he realised that she wasn't financially stable enough to be feeding two people anymore, he had tried to avoid it. He didn't want her missing meals for his sake.

"They're fine, thanks. I'm...uh...passing everything." That was a blatant lie. He wasn't at college enough to even know what he was studying anymore, but he couldn't tell Aunt May that. "In fact, I'm getting top marks."

"Oh, Peter..." May's voice was filled with such pride that it almost made Peter tear up. "Ben would have been so proud of you."

Peter's lips tightened into a thin line beneath his mask. It was the only way he could stop them from trembling. No matter how much time passed, the hole that his uncle's death had left in his life could never be filled. Not with MJ, or with Harry, or even with Aunt May. He had been more than a father figure... Uncle Ben was his best friend. His role model. The person that he aspired to be.

"Thanks, Aunt May..." Peter murmured, barely able to keep his voice from falling apart. He hoped that she was right... He hoped that he had made his uncle proud.

"Of course, I'm proud as well!" She added, and her voice suddenly became brighter - as if she had heard the sorrow in his voice and quickly jumped to another subject. "I'd be a lot prouder though if you came to clean up that old comic book collection. It's been sitting there for over a year!"

Peter whipped another web towards a towering apartment complex and sighed. He wanted to visit more often, but he rarely had time to do anything besides fight crime and be late for classes. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I'll come over and get it sorted soon."

"Well, your birthday's soon so you're going to have to."

Peter perched on top of a street lamp and huffed. _Was it really August already? _He had seriously lost track of time. "Oh...really?"

"You forgot last year as well." May chuckled. "And the year before that. It's become a yearly task to remind you."

"I'm sorry, but I really don't think I'll have time for th-"

"Now I'll be hearing none of that!" May insisted with a fiery determination that Peter could never win against. "I want you over for dinner on Saturday. No excuses."

Peter narrowed his eyes and finally saw the cause of the smoke. A massive bonfire was raging in the middle of Jacobus Street...right in front of a book store. Typeface was dancing around it like a maniac and throwing handfuls of books into the flames. "Uh... Aunt May? I gotta go."

"Not until you give me your word that you'll be here for dinner Saturday night." May answered stubbornly.

"Yeah, okay, I promise." Peter said dismissively. "I'll talk to you later. Love you. Bye."

He hung up, threw his phone into the air, then webbed it to a nearby brick wall. This wouldn't take long. It was incredible that Typeface had even managed to break out of prison with his apparent lack of powers, or just capability in general. He had probably followed someone more substantial out of jail...or maybe the guards felt bad for him and let him go. Peter certainly did.

————————————

_**Author's Note: **Just a little note confirming that the woman mentioned in this chapter (Jo Kimble, lead engineer for ARGENT), is the oc from the Iron Man story. The interview Eddie Brock speaks of will be in it. If you're not interested it's no biggy, but this is just one small example of how all my Marvel books will be crossing over. ️_


	16. Sixteen

**_Chapter Sixteen: You're Not My Type_**

"I thought we talked about this, Captain A-Face." Spider-Man quipped, hopping down from the street lamp and crossing his arms. "No book burnings in the middle of Queens...or any public place, really."

Typeface turned, his spiky brown hair jostling at the sudden movement. He wore a pair of ludicrous green overalls and a silver chain covered with different letters. On his forehead was the inspiration for Peter's nickname; a giant 'A' drawn onto his forehead with red ink. The careless criminal's expression contorted into one of pure annoyance - primarily from Spidey's little name for him. "I'm doing these people a favour!"

"By destroying public property?" Peter scoffed, directing towards the towering stack of books behind the villain. "I'm pretty sure this library only lets you check out four books at a time. Do you even have a library card?"

Typeface grimaced, opening the book currently held in his hands and ripping out a page. He threw it into the fire and the flames scorched it out of existence. "You seem to be under the delusion that your comments are funny, but your humour falls flat in comparison to Douglas Adams, you artless arbiter of arrogance."

"Look, the whole alliteration thing was kinda amusing the first time but now it's just getting old." Spider-Man sighed. "So, how about we get this over with."

"Are you truly going to arrest me for a peaceful protest?"

"How is this peaceful?" Peter asked in disbelief. The fire was growing to new heights, crackling ferociously into the morning air and heating the world around it. People had already evacuated the area in fear that it might spread. "What are you even protesting?"

Typeface closed the book and lifted it so Peter could finally see the cover. It sported a tie in utter darkness and read 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. "I'm protesting the distribution of terrible literature!"

This was the exact moment when Peter decided to just give up on life. He had taken down some of the most dastardly villains in NYC...and yet, here he was, watching an unhinged literature snob burn a ton of library books. "Isn't that a little subjective? Just 'cause you don't like it, doesn't mean that no one does."

"You think I care about what everyone else thinks? They're wrong, and by burning this trash I will be preventing anyone else from being brainwashed by it."

Peter finally noticed the caliber of books that Typeface had lined up for burning; everything from Moon People by Dale Courtney and Miles To Go by Miley Cyrus, to Timon of Athens by Shakespeare and The Eye of Argon by Jim Theis. What? You were expecting Twilight to be on this list? Well, that's a dead joke at this point and in fear of being too predictable, I've decided not to mention it...until now.

Those books were piled on top of each other, the red flames casting threatening shadows over their covers. They almost seemed to scream for Spider-Man to save them, or maybe that was just the exhaustion setting in.

"Look, I really think you're overreacting...like usual." Peter crossed his arms and sighed. "Can't you just accept that people like different things?"

"Never!" Typeface bellowed, tossing the ruined copy of Fifty Shades of Grey into the fire. The flames twisted and crackled gratefully as the villain grabbed a copy of Timon of Athens. He dangled it near the fire, singeing the very edges of the book.

"Stop right there!" A voice punctured the tense atmosphere, and Peter was suddenly overcome by the urge to jump off a bridge. "I will not allow you to harm anymore innocent literature!"

Typeface scowled and the wrinkles that this formed on his forehead turned the 'A' into an 'N'. "Who the devil are you?"

"I'm Protonslaught, the champion of justice!"

Peter found a really tall building nearby and started thinking how nice it would be to plunge himself from the top.

Protonslaught continued, "On behalf of William Shakespeare, the Swan of Avon, I will punish you!"

Spider-Man slumped as she approached. He was starting to think that she'd never run out of stupid things to say. "Isn't that a Sailor Moon thing? Are we even allowed to say that?"

Don't question Peter for asking such a crucial question, after all, this could be a copyright issue. In fact, this whole tale could be one.

Ignoring Spidey's words, as if she hadn't heard him at all, she pointed her index finger towards Typeface and frowned. "Are you seriously thinking about burning Timon of Athens?!"

"Why does it matter?" Typeface growled back. "It sucks."

"You did not just say that something written by Shakespeare sucks!" Protonslaught snapped with such rage that it made Spider-Man jump in surprise. "Are you a fucking idiot?"

"It's literally about a guy that loses his money, moves to a cave, finds more money, then dies before he can spend that money! It's one of the worst things he's ever done!" Typeface argued, fingernails digging into the spine of the aforementioned book.

"Shakespeare's worst plays are better than most of the best modern novels!" Protonslaught retaliated. "And just FYI, The Two Noble Kinsmen is much worse than Timon of Athens. The cousins in that book fall in love with the same girl, and she can't decide between them so she just waits until one of them dies and marries the other one. I mean, you can't tell me that play isn't his worst."

"I can and I will!"

"You're seriously psychotic, man. Burning anything from Shakespeare should be a felony! It's just cruel!"

"I am not cruel, just truthful - The eye of a little god, four cornered."

"Don't you dare quote Sylvia Plath to me! You don't deserve to utter a single word that she wrote!"

Currently, Spider-Man could be found staring into the distance and attempting to block out their conversation. He had come here to arrest Typeface and go home...not endure an argument about Shakespeare. Seriously, he had enough of that waiting for him at college.

With a rather severe frown crinkling the fibres of his mask, Peter shot a web at Typeface's hands; he did this at a slight angle so that they would be glued together by the sticky substance. He did the same to his feet - adhering them to the concrete. "Okay, are we done now? Because this was a serious waste of my time."

Yes, Peter. It was a waste of everyone's time. Especially the poor, disappointed readers.

"Are you kidding? We saved a ton of books today!" Protonslaught declared, puffing her chest out with pride. "There ain't anything more rewarding than that!"

Peter rolled his eyes, knowing very well that she couldn't see it. "Really? 'Cause I could think of a few things..."

"That's because you don't know the value of Shakespeare!"

Peter grimaced. "...You really like that guy, huh?"

Protonslaught grinned from ear to ear and nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, he's a genius."

The world quietened to a dull hum, and even that disappeared eventually as Peter narrowed his eyes. Where had he heard that before? The universe's soundless atmosphere was deafening, and it was in those brief moments that Peter realised that silence has a sound; it's awkward and unsteady, like a wavering lifeline. It's the irregular beat of a heart and the annoying buzz of a mosquito. It's all the little sounds that usually go unheard.

Seriously, where had he heard that sentence before?

"What?" Protonslaught asked with a huff. "You don't agree? Are you too stupid to read his stuff?"

Spider-Man groaned. Her insult took hold of his curiosity and threw it into outer space, never to be seen again. "I can read it. He just sucks."

The woman's eyes flared with outrage. It coloured her eyes in a misty, powdery blue that almost suffocated him. "Are you looking for a fight? Because you're getting really close to starting one, Jizz-Hands."

"Whatever." Peter responded, obviously no longer effected by her crude comments. He didn't plan on sticking around for long enough to hear her continue either.

Spider-Man aimed the web shooter towards the nearest building. He could see it lined perfectly between his two middle fingers which were currently curled against his palm. Then there was a noise. A groan, actually, and it immediately grabbed Spidey's attention.

As if this wasn't enough of a filler chapter already, Peter turned to find his old colleague Clint Barton (aka Hawkeye) standing in front of the library with wide eyes and an unhinged jaw. "Wh-What the hell happened here?"

Spider-Man pointed towards Typeface, who was struggling in vain against the rope-like webs. "He did it."

Clint blinked at the deranged-looking villain and then let his gaze fall to the piles of books behind him. "Are those all my copies of Timon of Athens?"

"Yeah, he was gonna burn them...isn't that horrible?" Protonslaught responded, but Peter's attention was elsewhere.

Before Clint could even utter a response, Spider-Man had posed another question. "Your copies? Don't tell me you own the library..."

"I own the library."

Peter wished that he could sound shocked that Clint Barton, the legendary Hawkeye who had fought countless foes alongside the Avengers, owned a whole public library in Queens...but he wasn't. "Do I even want to know why?"

Clint shrugged. "It goes with my apartment complex and my farm. What else am I gonna spend all this money on? You know how it is with the crazy salary you get for being an Avenger and an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Oh wait, you don't. You're destitute."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. He wished that he had money to throw around...but no. He just had to be stubborn and idealistic about making his own way through life; on his own terms, with his own ideas. He was so consumed by his own stupidity that he had forgotten that Protonslaught was still there.

The masked woman jumped forward and said "You work for the Avengers?!"

"Good job with the whole 'secret identity' thing." Spider-Man teased lowly.

"Secret identity? Only assholes have secret identities. Besides, being a paid government agent means that they gotta know my name and shit." Clint deflected; he still didn't seem too bothered by her knowing.

Peter sighed. "Who you calling an asshole?"

"You. Idiot." Hawkeye jabbed. "Who is this broad anyway? Finally get yourself a sidekick?"

Protonslaught crossed her arms, almost offended by his assumption. "If anything, he's my sidekick."

"Okay, I'm officially done with this." Spider-Man exclaimed with a heavy exhale. "I can't deal with both of you at once."

"Yeah whatever, get outta here." Clint smirked, watching with immense amusement as the arachnid swung out of sight. He finally turned his attention to Protonslaught, who apparently hadn't realised that this scene was almost over because she just stood there blankly. "So...now that you know who I am, it's only fair that you tell me who you are."

"Me?" The girl pointed at herself rather cluelessly and grinned. "Michelle Pfeiffer."

Clint scoffed insultingly loudly. "Lady, you ain't no Michelle Pfeiffer."

"You don't have to sound so sure about it..." Protonslaught huffed. "Even if I did tell you my name, I can guarantee you wouldn't know who I am anyway."

The man went to argue but swiftly decided against it when he realised that he had no rebuttal. "That's...a good point. You're probably a nobody."

"Probably." The woman grinned confidently, snatching a copy of Timon of Athens from the concrete in front of Typeface (who was still trying to break free of his bonds), and handed it to Clint. "Take better care of these next time, fuckface."


	17. Seventeen

**_Chapter Seventeen: The Curious of Annabelle Lee_**

Annabelle tapped her short fingernails against the college desk and stared out the window; awaiting the arrival of their literacy professor. She had always disliked mornings, it was too responsible a time, with the daylight demanding that it be 'faced' and with the sun already up and in charge of the world, with little hope of anyone usurping or challenging its authority. She spotted someone slumping out of their home nearby; a shot of light attacked the face of the poor waking human being, as yet another slave limped wounded into the light-occupied territory.

What irritated her most of all about these mornings were the people that actually enjoyed them. There were at least ten of them in her class right now that were in horribly good temper, as if they had been up for three hours and already conquered France or something.

Annabelle pouted and tried to direct her eyes away from the sun. Instead, she grabbed a permanent marker from her pencil case (she was the only one in college that still seemed to have one) and started drawing on her hand. She drew a dog, a halo-wearing heart, then she simply settled for colouring her nails with the marker. By the time the teacher had shown up, Annabelle had run out of room on her hand and moved further up.

The thick black ink clashed with her skin, covering the small red dots that littered her arm. These flawed spots were a little thing that the doctors liked to call 'Keratosis Pilaris', or Annabelle's preferred term, 'Chicken skin'. Don't worry, this didn't mean that she was turning into a chicken...though that would certainly suit the terribly ridiculous nature of this story. In all honesty, Annabelle didn't know much about it; only that it was a fairly common skin condition that caused tiny little red spots that kind of resembled goosebumps. Only, they were permanently dotting her skin like dozens of tightly-knit constellations.

As a kid it had bothered her. She constantly wore jackets just to hide it from people...then she realised that no one cared. She realised that she didn't care either. Actually, the redness kind of resembled a very minor sunburn, and she always thought that sunburns were kind of pretty...was that weird?

There was a loud bang that echoed through the room like a gunshot. All eyes in the classroom turned towards the door where Peter Parker was clumsily staggering in. He mumbled about a dozen apologies before tripping into an empty chair, making yet another piercing thud.

The professor rolled his eyes before continuing with the lesson. This time Annabelle actually started paying attention. "As I was saying, we'll be moving onto poetry next week. As a starting point, I want all of you to bring in your favourite poem or one that you believe was influential at the time it was written. If you don't have one, find one."

Annabelle's heart sang. She had always loved poetry, perhaps in a similar way that she adored literature (though she preferred books written before the 19th century). Her mind sorted through hundreds of files, analysing each folder in search of an appropriate poem. Should she choose The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus? Or maybe Daffodils by William Wordsworth? She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron was certainly on the list, but as was almost everything that Edgar Allen Poe had written, after all, he was her absolute favourite.

As the lesson dragged on, Annabelle's mind was transfixed on the assignment. She simply couldn't decide between the plethora of poems already swirling in her mind. By the time class was dismissed she still hadn't pinned one down.

Annabelle packed up her pencil case and workbook then swung the bag over her shoulder. She followed the small marks on the ground on her way to the exit, but soon those small dents and scratches were obscured by a pair of untied shoes. She glanced up and found the nervous figure of Peter Parker.

Oh no.

Annabelle didn't really want to speak with him today...or any day after watching him ditch his sweet aunt in a life-threatening situation. That awkward charm that he used to possess, the very thing that had first drawn her to him, now only reminded her of his true nature - that he was the kind of person that would leave his family to die.

"H-Hey..." Peter mumbled lowly, and his voice cracked anxiously. He looked like he was finding the courage to say what he had planned, but the words ran away from him. Instead, his eyes fell to the ink on her arm and the many flushed dots that decorated it. He'd never noticed it before, but he found himself making a mental note of how it made her arms look like they were blushing. He knew someone in high school with the same thing, and it had sparked a whole night's worth of interest in skin conditions for the young Peter. "Keratosis Pilaris?"

Annabelle furrowed her brow but nodded regardless. She didn't quite understand why he had stopped her just to talk about her skin.

"You know what causes that, right?" Peter started. He always went on long and unnecessary tangents when he was nervous, but this time he was practically ready to collapse under the anxious tremble burrowing into his body. "It develops when the skin produces too much of a protein called keratin, which can block hair follicles and cause bumps."

Annabelle frowned. "Uh...okay...cool, I guess."

She tried to step around him but Peter blocked her path yet again. He gulped and stuttered "I-I'm sorry. That's totally not what I meant to talk to you about."

Annabelle folded her arms over her chest and analysed the tired boy. "Then what else did you want to talk about?"

"The...football game?" Peter said, almost as if he were asking if he was allowed to mention it. "I passed that essay, thanks to you, but I want to clear the air."

"I'm glad you passed, I really am, but there's I've already said my piece."

"I know you did, but I...well, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why I left." Peter replies almost desperately. He didn't want her opinion of him to remain so tainted. He wanted to be friends...at the very least.

"Yeah, you already told me. You remembered that you had homework." Annabelle huffed and somehow managed to swerve around him. She could tell that he wanted to say something else and that he was likely hiding something...but it didn't really matter. In the end, they were almost strangers. Peter was allowed to have his secrets, Annabelle certainly had hers, but that didn't change the fact that she had seen an incredibly selfish side of him and that she didn't wish to associate herself with it.

———————————

Annabelle's day had been hijacked by Peter Parker. First he had cornered her in class, then his friend Mary Jane Watson had somehow found her Facebook profile and asked her to attend a little party that Peter's aunt was throwing for his birthday. Belle had no idea why they had invited her, but she may have actually said yes a couple days ago...not now though. She had rejected the invite almost a little too quickly...she hoped that Mary Jane didn't take offence to it.

At the moment, Annabelle was snacking on black liquorice. Yes, it had a definitive flavour that a lot of people hated...but Belle loved it. She had been eating it ever since she was a kid. She swore that she was born with a stick of liquorice in her hand. It was the only way to describe her strange love for it.

As she entered her place of employment, Burgatori, she took a seat near the window and slumped into the seat. She was almost half an hour early but she enjoyed being early; it gave her a chance to prepare for the work day ahead. She had just grabbed one of the napkins, placed carefully on the table, and started folding it into an aeroplane when someone suddenly sat on the opposite end of the table.

Annabelle glanced up to meet the stare of a stranger. His eyes were green but not the kind of shade that's easy to describe. It was almost like they were both green and yellow at the same time, with blue creeping in around the edges as if it were trying to take over. He blinked and the beauty was momentarily covered by the shield of his eyelashes; naturally long and soft looking - feminine compared to the rest of his well structured and sharp features.

"Can I...help you?" Annabelle murmured with a mouth full of liquorice. It had coloured both her mouth and teeth a strange shade.

"I hope so." The man straightened his overly-expensive jacket and smiled. "Are you Annabelle Lee?"

Belle tilted her head to the side oddly. "Who's asking?"

His grin never wavered as he offered her his hand. "Harry Osborn."

Much to Harry's confusion, Annabelle didn't shake his hand...she stared at it. She stared at it for so long that it was starting to get weird. Then, before Harry could retract his hand, Belle slapped it; it resulted in a strange, sideways high-five. "Osborn, as in Oscorp?"

"Yeah it was my father's company." Harry answered with a slight twinge of sorrow at having to mention his father. "Well, I guess it's mine now."

Annabelle's expression twisted into something akin to empathy, but she quickly decided that Harry Osborn wasn't the type of man to want anyone feeling sorry for him. She forced herself to hide the sorrow and asked "And is there any reason you're sitting here? If you want some liquorice, I've already eaten most of it..."

"That disgusting stuff?" Harry scoffed. "No, I'm here by the request of Mary Jane."

"Peter's friend?"

Hardy nodded. "She said you were strangely adamant about not attending Peter's birthday."

"And you two are strangely adamant about me going." Annabelle observed, taking another bite of liquorice that temporarily coloured her teeth black.

Harry tried not to say anything about it. "We thought it'd be nice to have some of his college friends there, but he's only ever mentioned you."

Well, that was certainly sweet...but Belle still didn't know how to feel about Peter. "I'm sorry, but I'm really not comfortable going."

"Because of the whole 'ditching his aunt' thing?"

Annabelle shouldn't have been surprised that he knew...after all, he seemed pretty close with Peter and Mary Jane. "Yeah...that."

"What makes you think that he wasn't going to get help?" Harry asked, somehow managing to cross his legs under the table in a masculine fashion. "Peter's a lot of things; clumsy, clueless, and a general flake, but he's no coward...at least when it comes to his aunt."

"I really wish I could believe that, but I saw him leave her behind."

Harry finally threw a copy of The Daily Bugle onto the table. The noise immediately caught Belle's attention and forced her gaze towards the cover. It showed a picture of Spider-Man with a donut in his hand. The title read 'Spider-Man: The Donut Thief'.

Noticing the confused expression on Annabelle's face, Harry decided to be a bit more direct. "Look in the corner."

She did as recommended and saw the words 'Photographer: Peter Parker'. This certainly came as a shock, if nothing else. She didn't know that Peter was skilled enough to get such a clear picture of the web-slinger. "How did he even get that close?"

Harry's eyes were full of fury as they stared at the picture. Each flare of hatred that arose, he'd quickly force back down again; it made his throat burn like it was being engulfed by red hot flames. It didn't matter, at least not now. He was doing this for Peter. His best friend. His own hatred for Spider-Man would have to be postponed. "He knows Spider-Man. That's how he gets the photos. Spidey always ends up where Peter is; they talk. Spidey saves people, Pete gets a pay check. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

It was painfully obvious that Harry Osborn was fighting the urge to call Spider-Man an array of colourful insults.

"You're saying Peter...called that Spider-guy for help with Will o' the Wisp?"

Harry smiled. "I wasn't there, so I'm not saying anything. What does it look like to you?"

The air around them thinned, only barely, but it was enough for Annabelle to feel the effect to her oxygen supply. Spider-Man had appeared pretty soon after Peter left...maybe he really was trying to get help. Guilt cling to Belle's stomach like a vice. "If that's true then I owe Pete an apology..."

Harry, with a somewhat smug look of victory on his face, stood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his designer pants. "The party starts at 7, be there at 6. Pete will probably be late but it's meant to be a surprise so we'll just have to bare with it."

Annabelle nodded and Harry made a rather elegant exit. By 'elegant' Belle meant that he didn't trip over anything on his way...that's where her standard was. She tripped over everything from the ground to her own feet at least four times a day.

She really needed to work on that.


	18. Eighteen

**_Chapter Eighteen: Where's the Cake?_**

Oh no, something terrible has happened in New York. Again. Where 95% of the world's superheroes live. Who would've guessed? What is this catastrophic calamity, you say? Well, it would sound like the beginning of a joke.

So a witch, a headsman, a high school science teacher, a radioactive Chinese guy, a dude made out of laser beams, and a Nazi stroll into New York and start blowing stuff up. But these guys were no joke, they were called the Masters of EVIL by some stupid paper and it stuck. This aforementioned A-Team of bad guys were the Enchantress, Skurge the Executioner, Radioactive Man, the Living Laser, and Baron Zemo. Actual threats to the sanctity of life. What? You were expecting another terrible joke of a villain? Bah, what low standards you have of this tale.

"Have at thee, foul wretch! Thy mystic harms shan't reach the fair people of Midgard this day!" Yelled Thor like a well-trained stage actor as he flung lightning at the Enchantress.

The sorceress cackled in response "This confidence is most debilitating, Thunderer. I seek not the pitifully short lives of these insects, I seek yours!"

Spidey came flying through the mess of magic sparkles and whatnot as he landed a blow on Radioactive Man's very radioactive face. Not the Simpsons one, the other one. The Chinese one. A 'crack' sounded as Radioactive Man stumbled backwards, and Peter sighed "These guys are tough! Where's the big green guy when you need him?!"

Hawkeye, nobody's favourite Avenger, was matched up with nobody's favourite supervillain; Chemistro. As he dodged the various chemicals that were fired from Chemistro's gun, Clint returned fire and replied to Peter "Oh you didn't hear? We lost him."

"SSSHHHH!" Tony hissed through the comm channel as he flew around shooting lasers at the Living Laser. "Do you know how much money I'm throwing away to keep that a secret?!"

Peter's shock was evidenced in how Radioactive Man socked him with a backhand strike. Spidey flipped forward in recovery and said "Wait, so you really lost him? The Hulk?"

"We didn't lose him. He kinda just left."

"After killing his wife?" Hawkeye jabbed.

Peter, somehow juggling this shocking exchange with tying the Radioactive Man up in his gross webs, managed to press "He what?!"

"Look, no one knows what happened. As soon as we find him, we'll ask him. But right now...everybody needs to focus." Captain America ordered. He parried the sword blows of Baron Zemo and skilfully evaded his handed strikes.

Hercules wrestled with Skurge as he added "I, for one, agree with the well-spoken sentiments of the Captain of America. We face mighty foes in this battle who shall draw no quarter!"

"Verily. Friend Hercules speaks true. Cease this bickering." Thor boomed.

Hercules slammed Skurge with his club and turned to the flying God of Thunder "'Tis Heracles, you Norse ne'er-do-well!"

Hawkeye nailed Chemistro in the face with a taser arrow. "Yeah, yeah, whatever Hercules."

Since this narrator believes that doing more back and forth dialogue between more than two people who are simultaneously fighting more than two other people is kind of hard, we can agree that the battle was hard fought but the Avengers prevented the Masters of EVIL from doing whatever the heck they were trying to do.

"This is Captain Rogers, requesting cleanup." Cap said into his earpiece as he secured reinforced handcuffs around Zemo's wrists.

The purple-masked son of a Nazi sneered and whispered "My family has fought you for nearly a century, my Captain. I am not going to relent until I hold your lifeless corpse in my hands."

Cap replied "That's what your father believed, Helmut...and he wasted his life trying to make it happen. I hope you won't make that same mistake. It's never too late."

About ten metres away, across the street, stood Hawkeye and Spidey. Clint rolled his shoulder back and forth as he muttered to Peter "How the hell does he do that? That guy's a Nazi. A crazy Nazi. And his dad and grandad tried to kill him and Bucky back in the war. But Steve can still look the dude in the eye and say 'hey man, all that murdering you did is all good if you say sorry or something'."

"Well he's not technically a Nazi. His dad, Heinrich Zemo, was a Nazi. Nazism is a political ideology, and sock-face over there doesn't seem too interested in anything but stabbing Steve." Spidey replied, messaging his fists which were sore from punching dudes all day.

Clint squinted at Zemo as he struggled slightly against his cuffs. "Yeah he's a Nazi."

"Oh. Okay."

Suddenly, there was a stream of maniacal laughing coming from the street across. Peter turned and saw a giant yellow wheel with machine guns fixed to the side rolling down the road, smashing cars aside.

Hawkeye chuckled "Well, off you go."

"What? Can't you take that? I'm kind of busy tonight."

"Hey, I'm an Avenger not Spider-Man. You take the weirdos with the gimmicks, we'll take the world-ending threats."

Great. It was the Big Wheel, a guy who rode around in a giant battle wheel. Again, you need to give an award to the guy who came up with this.

However, once again, Captain America came to Peter's rescue like a knight riding to a damsel's side. "Stow that talk, Barton." Steve glanced about to make sure no one else was in earshot. "Peter, we'll handle this. Happy birthday, son."

He waved Hawkeye over to one of the several quinjets that arrived to transport the Masters to jail. Oh, now that we've reached it, it seems that Enchantress and Skurge are a bit too powerful for human jails. We shall now mention that Thor shovelled them off to Asgard or whatever. Yeah, that's what happened.

Hawkeye groaned as he heeded Cap's order. "I had to work on my birthday, why does he get a pass?"

"Doesn't count if you didn't know it was your birthday." Steve quipped as they disappeared into the quinjet.

———————————————-

It was a mistake to think of houses, old houses, as being empty. In Annabelle's opinion they were filled with memories, with the faded echoes of voices. Drops of tears, drops of blood, the ring of laughter, the edge of tempers that had ebbed and flowed between the walls, into the walls, over the years. It was like a kind of strange life, and there were houses, she knew it, that breathed. They carried in their wood and stone, their brick and mortar a kind of ego that was nearly, very nearly, human. The Parker's house was one of these homes.

The living room was small and attached to an even tinier kitchen, but lined along those crumbling walls were rows of photographs of a family happier than any she had seen before; Peter, his Aunt May, and a man she could only assume was his uncle.

The small dinner table was set with a floral cover and plates so clean that the lights above it were perfectly reflected within. There were bowls full of dollar-store candy and a tray full of wheatcakes. Annabelle raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the dessert "Isn't there supposed to be icing on those?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." Aunt May hummed rather chipperly. "Peter likes them plain."

"Peter likes everything plain." Harry teased. He was leaning against the wall opposite Annabelle and watching as Mary Jane gave a heart-melting giggle.

Belle, not knowing Peter well enough to judge whether this was an accurate statement, turned her attention back to the photos. There were plenty of Peter as a child, with his pants pulled up a little too high and his glasses much too big for his young face. Annabelle suddenly realised that he no longer wore glasses...he must have switched to contacts.

As she scanned the framed memories, she came across one of three teenagers. They couldn't be any older than sixteen. One of them was clearly Peter, but the other two didn't look even remotely familiar.

"That guy pulling the weird face is Ned and the girl next to him is Michelle Jones. Pete dated her for, like, a year." Harry explained as he stepped closer to the line of frames that had clearly caught Belle's attention.

Her eyes fell on the next photo, and this time she saw three familiar faces; Peter, Harry, and Mary Jane were all squeezing into the frame...but there was one more person there. A girl with hair woven in gold, and eyes like a misty ocean. "And who's this?"

Harry froze. "Uh...I don't know if it's my place to-"

"That's Gwen Stacy." May answered without a hint of reluctance. She was bringing out a plate of cookies and offered Annabelle one. She took four. "She was always very close to Peter. They started dating and it lasted quite a while. Until after graduation, actually, if my memory serves me correctly."

Annabelle grabbed hold of the picture and analysed it. Peter's arm was wrapped around Gwen's shoulders, and Harry was holding Mary Jane close to his side. Belle could only assume that Mary Jane had been dating Harry at that time...at least, that's what it looked like. "What happened to them?"

The inevitable question triggered a fit of silence. The only sound that dared to break it was the crunching of Annabelle as she ate one of May's cookies. The elderly woman in question patted Belle on the shoulder and smiled weakly. "The dear girl passed on."

Annabelle's loud chewing came to an abrupt halt. "You mean...she died?"

May nodded and Belle swiftly put the photograph down; as if it were haunted and likely to curse her at any given second. The girl in the picture looked entirely healthy...young, beautiful, and full of life. Belle knew that to enquire any further was probably inappropriate, but her curiosity often outweighed her none-existent social skills.

"How...?" Belle finally asked, and this time the sweet aunt's eyes shifted to the floor.

Harry was the one that answered. In the span of two seconds his kind gaze had turned cruel, and anger seeped through his every pore. "Spider-Man killed her...just like he killed my father."

Annabelle gasped, silently. It was more like a hitch in her throat than anything else. Spider-Man killed them? It simply didn't sound right. Sure, The Daily Bugle loved to make him look like a menace, but all she'd ever seen the web-slinger do is help people.

"Now, I'll be hearing none of that." May finally said, placing the cookies onto the table. "This is Peter's special day, and that topic always ends badly. I won't be having any fighting tonight."

Harry grumbled something inaudible under his breath but decided to drop the subject entirely. That look in his eyes never wavered though. It was something dark, and full of an intense hatred.

In a desperate attempt to escape the tense atmosphere, Belle wandered towards a nearby door. There was a battered old sign hanging from it that read 'Advanced research staging area - Oscorp'. It was immediately obvious that this was Peter's old room, and as that same curiosity overwhelmed her, Annabelle ducked inside.

The room itself was a mess; clothes littered the ground and massive textbooks on every matter of science were splayed out over the mattress. May hadn't changed it since Peter left.

There was a framed cover of Frontier Science Journal hanging on the wall; featuring Doctor Reed Richards in normal clothes posing with his foot on a chair - trying to look cool and casual but actually emitting that 'kill me' look out of his drained, soulless eyes. The title of his essay was 'Applications of Molecularly Unstable Objects'

Then, right next to that, was a thirty-seven page research paper by Doctor Robert Bruce Banner called 'The Effects of Gamma Radiation on Organic Matter'. It was printed in its entirety and blu-tacked to the wall. Annabelle raised an eyebrow at the sight. Apparently, Peter had always been a little eccentric.

The loud roar of 'Happy Birthday, Peter!' echoed through the house, insinuating that Peter had just arrived...but Annabelle has just found a pile of comic books and found herself distracted by flicking through them. She was so distracted, in fact, that she barely noticed how much time had passed until the door was pulled open.

She turned to meet the shocked expression of Peter Parker. He yelped. It was high-pitched and temporarily deafening. Harry and Mary Jane could be heard snickering in the living room at the sound. "A-Annabelle? Wh-What are you doing here?!"

Belle shrugged. "I was invited."

Panic flashed on his face so quickly that it took all the colour with it; he was now so pale that he looked like he might pass out. Within the span of two seconds he started gathering the clothes left on the floor and chucking it into the closet. "Oh my God...I haven't actually been in this room for years, I'm so sorry about the mess."

"It's alright...really. My room isn't that neat either."

Despite her reassurance, Peter still scurried around the room trying to make his room less of an embarrassment...but whenever he removed one thing, there was something even worse underneath it; like a melted chocolate bar or a soda stain.

His running around was starting to make Annabelle dizzy...and so she decided to switch his focus from the dirty room to the essay on his walls. "Why do you have a whole research paper pinned up?"

Peter stopped, arms full of shirts with science jokes on them, and glanced up at his wall. "Well...uh...you know how people have inspirational quotes on their walls?"

"This thirty-seven page essay on gamma radiation is the equivalent of an inspirational quote to you?"

"Yeah he did some uh real in-depth research on that." Peter confirmed, throwing the shirts onto his bed and staring at the pages with a grin.

"Right... Didn't it turn him green and shrink his pants?"

Peter did one of those snorting laughs that make people think he was ten seconds away from turning into a pig. "Something like that."

Annabelle chewed on her bottom lip. Their conversation had fallen flat, and only one thing remained. She needed to apologise, but Belle had always been awful at admitting any wrongdoing...primarily because she usually didn't get involved.

"Look, Pete..." Belle started, twisting her foot anxiously against the carpet like a drill running low on batteries. "Harry told me what happened with Will o' the Wisp."

Peter's expression dropped into one that almost resembled horror. Harry didn't know his secret...did he? The fact that he was still alive proved it. "H-He did?"

"Yeah. You went to find that Ladybug-Guy."

Peter blinked incredulously. "You mean...Spider-Man?"

"He's not a ladybug?" Annabelle hummed in deep thought. It was almost like she was purposefully getting it wrong...because not long ago she had called him 'Human Spider', which though was still wrong, at least acknowledged that he was a spider. "He has the dots like a ladybug."

"They're webs." Peter sighed, rubbing his temples and hoping to scare away the first signs of a headache.

"The point is that I jumped to conclusions...and I'm sorry." Annabelle smiled, and Peter hadn't realised how much he missed seeing that crooked grin directed at him. "You were trying to keep your knowledge of that Spider-Guy's location a secret. You were being a good friend, and I was a horrible one."

"N-No!" Peter suddenly blurred out a little too loudly. "You're a great friend! Your reaction was completely understandable... I should be thanking you, actually. You took care of my aunt while I was gone. So, uh, thanks!"

Annabelle giggled. It was low and earthy, and lacked the general lilt that most women had...but Peter had never heard such a beautiful sound. "Anytime. She's a sweetheart."

Peter smiled back at her. "Yeah, she is."

Then, one of the best moments of Peter's life came forward in the shape of Belle's arms. She wrapped them around his waist and hugged him so tightly that he thought he might faint. Not from her strength, but from being so incredibly close to her. "Happy birthday, Pete."


	19. Nineteen

**_Chapter Nineteen: In His Father's Shadow_**

Oscorp, originally called the Osborn Corporation prior to a company-wide rebranding shortly after its founding, had one of the largest corporate/research and development headquarters in the world. Oscorp Tower was a sleek, black, and immense monolith atop the crown of the New York skyline. Of its many levels and sub-levels, there was only one that was entirely free of human presence.

This place, sub-level 24B, was Harry Osborn's current destination as he rode the elevator up his building. Ever since his father's death, 24B was shut down and all its projects left there to gather dust. There was too much legal fire due to the attempted tying of the Green Goblin to Oscorp's various RD projects that were being pursued on 24B. Although nothing was ever proved, Harry was forced to shut it off and retask all of the personnel there. He was always too haunted by rage and sorrow to ever have it cleaned up...so now, he finally welled up enough strength to go there.

The elevator came to a halt and opened its gates to the dark beyond. Harry trailed outward and saw nothing but pitch black nothingness. It infuriated him. This nothingness, this eternal oblivion, was what Spider-Man sentenced Norman Osborn to when he impaled him those years ago. That year, Peter lost Gwen Stacy...but Harry lost his father. No one seemed to remember that, Harry believed. They all remembered Gwen, though.

He grasped a lever on the wall and tugged it downward, tearing asunder the wealth of cobwebs that had been woven around it in the absence of workers. Harry gritted his teeth at this reminder.

Lights bathed the massive room in the weak, white glow...and Harry's eyes beheld sights that confirmed his suspicions.

Rows of extremely advanced, High-Shrapnel Compact Grenades lined an entire wall. Their orange, globular surfaces seemed to flicker like jack-o-lanterns. Harry stepped forward and laid a hand onto one of the grenades. The voice of his father returned with that small touch.

Take up my arms, Harry. Strike down he who robbed you of me.

Harry shook his head and moved onward. Next were several developmental and prototype models of Norman's pride and joy, the 'Glider' Personal Flight System. At a time when the only person who could achieve reasonable combat flight was Stark, Norman designed the first alternative. It was more agile than Stark's armours, was capable of remote operation, and housed on-board weaponry. It was a success...but when people started accusing Norman of supplying the Green Goblin, its funding dried up. No one wanted anything to do with it.

Atop these blackened wings, rain fire down on he who ruined your life.

The young business man clenched a fist and winced as his mind began racing ever faster. Lastly, past all the flight gear and handheld gadgets, was a case of green chemicals within isolated canisters. Harry knew that the rumours were true. The US government backed several pharmaceutical companies years ago to try replicating the super soldier serum used to give Captain America his strength. Oscorp's attempt was the G7 Performance Enhancer; a chemical substance that would be ingested in a gaseous state, but stored in a compressed liquid form. This case held several doses of G7.

Harry's fingers trembled against the container. It was meant to enhance the human physiology...but it was never perfected. They had never made it to human testing, at least, not that Harry was aware of.

Do not fear, my son. Fear is for the ill of mind, and it will dominate you if not kept in check. Take the canister to the chamber... Avenge me.

Harry's hand steadied. His father's voice soothed all fear from his mind; stitching the pulsating scar that had buried itself deep within his psyche. Spider-Man had taken everything from him...it was time to return the favour.

Harry dropped the canister of G7 into a slot just outside of the chamber. It clicked, deafeningly, then disappeared. His legs trembled as he stepped towards the nearby terminal, tapping in the starting sequence and displaying the countdown. He had two minutes before the gas was released into the chamber...and the last remnants of his sanity thumped against his skull.

"What am I doing?..." He found himself asking. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to go through with this...he couldn't overcome the strong feeling that this would be the end of him.

Cowering away already, Harry? You were always a disappointment to me.

The hesitance of Harry's mind vanished, replaced with a life-long urge to make his father proud. Even in death, he had a vice-like hold on Harry's heart. That voice seemed to push him forward, step by step, until he was secured inside of the chamber. He watched each second count down on the small monitor above him. Those moments felt like they extended into infinity and then, finally, the green-tinted gas started leaking into the chamber.

The substance clouded Harry's vision...then it grabbed the inside of his skull and squeezed. It felt as if it was twisting and turning his brain all up and down and inside out. It stabbed at his body like millions of tiny needles, sending him into a series of fits. He collapsed onto the cold floor and his body seized; it shook, and shook, and shook until his every muscle felt like it might disintegrate.

As the gas faded, Harry finally saw the truth - in plain sight, yet hidden all along; the world was made of blood and bone. All instruments of vengeance and virtue. This truth held him close, rocking him like a child in a mother's arms. It bound him in its love as insanity swallowed him in its grasp. His body hurt, it was pumping blood through bright green veins and restructuring his muscle, but it didn't matter. He could finally see the horrible world for what it was; a plague that needed to be medicated.

Harry finally stopped shivering, and as he sat up he could see a shadowy figure lingering in the corner. It stepped forward and Harry's heart stopped. The visage of his father stared through an empty gaze, blood dripping from his stomach where the last remnants of his life had poured out.

"F-Father?" Harry gasped, scurrying against the glass chamber wall like a rat recoiling from a flame.

Norman's face twisted into a malicious grin, and finally emotion flared in his eyes...vengeance, anger, and cruelty. The ghost was so real as it stood before Harry. It wasn't transparent, nor was it clouded with a kinder representation of Norman's features. It was him, just as he had always been...and he stared at Harry through the same disappointed eyes that haunted his every dream.

A scream tore from Harry's throat as he dashed out of the chamber. He ran as fast as his trembling legs would take him, and for so long that he didn't make it home until the sun had dipped beneath the horizon. He locked all the doors and hid in the only secure place in the entire mansion...his father's study.

Harry was bundled into a ball in the corner, whimpering and scanning the room for any signs of movement. He found it in the mirror opposite him. His father's face grinned at him and sent Harry's head spinning. The dwindling man grabbed the first thing that he could reach, a desk lamp, and threw it at the mirror with a roar.

Norman's face shuttered into hundreds of little pieces, but still that smile remained; untouched as it fell to the carpeted floor. That wasn't Harry's main concern anymore...his father's mean grin was forgotten when he saw that there was a hidden room behind that mirror, and he had just made an entry.

Harry slid back up to his feet, shivering as he cautiously stepped towards the entrance. The glass crunched beneath his shoes, and he swore that he could hear his father's laughter cracking through the air like thunder.

The room consisted of a dark corridor with small spots of brightness lining the walls; like a walkway leading him to his goal. As he reached the end, the entire room flooded with light and the sight sucked all oxygen from Harry's lungs. The same gadgets and bombs that he'd seen in Oscorp were laid out on a table. They were modified...like the equipment that the media suspected Oscorp of selling to The Green Goblin...

He turned, and right there, was a mask. The Green Goblin's mask.

Fear jolted through Harry's heart like a dagger. He wanted to scream but the sound adhered itself to his throat and refused to find air. Adrenaline flooded his system; it pumped and beat like it was trying to escape his body. He glanced over his shoulder, and was met with The Green Goblin...no, his father. Norman Osborn was wearing the mask.

I built Oscorp from the ground up...and yet any important research I attempted was immediately buried. The benefactors were going to fire me from my own company... Harry, you must understand. I only wanted what was fair; revenge on the people that tried to ruin my life...our life.

"You...killed innocent people." Harry's breath hitched. It took every ounce of his courage to speak.

Not at first. My only goal was to prove that the G7 worked...but Spider-Man got in my way. I did questionable things to defeat him, but you know why I did it. You see the truth now. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

"The...greater good?" Harry stammered.

Yes, Harry. Spider-Man killed me...he killed Gwen Stacy... The public don't see his true nature, but we do. This world would be a whole lot better without him in it. You'll help me with this, won't you? You'll take my place...you'll make me proud.

Harry's wide eyes suddenly dimmed. His fingers clutched around something solid, and as he glanced down he saw that he was suddenly holding the Green Goblin mask in his grasp. He didn't remember picking it up, but it's green sheen carved its way into Harry's mind...and it's yellow eyes reflected his blue ones like a mirror. It was like looking at his father...and himself at the same time. The image of who he was meant to become.

A twisted smile screwed itself onto Harry's face, revealing the sharp canine teeth that put most others to shame. "You're right. Spider-Man should be punished...and so should the rest of the world for believing in him."

He brought that mask to his face, and it fit so perfectly that Harry fancied that he might always keep it on. Forever. In death, and beyond. He finally felt fulfilled with that wicked goblin's smile resting against his face. Maybe...it wasn't the goblin's smile at all. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe Harry's true self was trapped within that mask, scratching to break free.


	20. Twenty

_**Chapter Twenty: Fanfiction Etiquette With Gordon Ramsay**_

That last chapter was a little too serious, wasn't it? Well don't you worry, true believers; as Harry is subjected to a traumatic mental breakdown, come on a ride and transport yourself to a crappy apartment in the revealed upper asscrack of New York.

This apartment was a hole. An absolute hole. It also smelt like rotten egg, salted peanuts, and minced beef.

"Hey, watch your mouth. Well...I guess you don't have a mouth because you're the omniscient narrator."

Yes...there's a red and black suited guy here on the couch, gloved fingers covered with Doritos dust. What a lovely man he is. Oh wait, he _would_ be in a red and black suit but he's currently in nothing but his underpants and mask, revealing that his entire body looks like it's made out of moist pepperoni.

"Oh hahaha, you fucker. I know you were being sarcastic when you called me lovely; I can sense it from your cold, static text. Oh right. Hey, audience? Yeah that's right, I'm talking to you. Gordon Ramsay isn't actually coming. The narrator just made it up because they thought it would be funny. What a cocksucker, right?" Said Deadpool as he licked his fingers.

What? No, Gordon Ramsay _is_ coming.

"You just narrate stuff okay, buddy? Not everything you say comes true." The asshole replied. "Well, that was just rude. I'm right here."

Look pal, I'm the narrator. I call the shots.

Deadpool dusted off his fingers and leapt to his feet before pulling his mask down over his ugly-ass face. "Goddamn it. Of all the different Deadpools...the Ryan Reynolds one, the video game one, the cartoon ones, hell even the X-Men Origins: Wolverine one...which is technically still Ryan Reynolds...why did I have to be the one that exists in a shitty fan fiction universe?"

Whoa. Whoa. Bro. That's uncalled for. I'll have you know that I'm trying my best here.

"Your face is uncalled for."

Hey. You wanna focus? I brought you here to further the plot. Kind of. Well, because Protonslaught and Spider-Man need to properly team up against someone to further their character development.

Deadpool sighed "Oh yeah, because I accepted that contract from that guy whose car was launched into the sky by a tree. He wants me to kill Protonslaught for five dollars."

Yes, this sinister mercenary was hired by one of the innocents harmed by Protonslaught from that chapter with Jack O Lantern, what a twist. Wait...five dollars? Wouldn't you rather a couple thousand or something? Isn't that what assassinations are worth?

"I dunno, fuck off." Deadpool snapped like a little _bitch_. "Oh can you stop being a little turd? Let's get these pants on and shoot that weird chick."

Now, we go to Times Square in broad daylight. Deadpool has tracked down Protonslaught with his incredible skills. "Dude, seriously? That's got to be the laziest transition I've ever seen. Just like that? No journey or anything? I just appear here? And what skills?!" The assassin shrieked, shaking his fist at the sky.

Protonslaught scratched her head. "Uh...who are you talking to?"

"Ah yes, if it isn't the extremely incompetent OC. As a matter of fact, I'm talking to the person responsible for that winning personality of yours."

"Uh...my mom?... Satan?"

"No, you idiot. The narrator. Also, I'm going to call you Prote because your name is obnoxiously long. Narrator, you should do that too."

You know, that's not a bad idea. Prote wrinkled her forehead. "Are you...okay?"

Deadpool drew a 44 magnum. It's a gun by the way. "I'm stuck in a fan fiction and am the only one who knows it. How do you think I am?"

"You're insane. You're batshit insane."

The mercenary aimed the gun at Protonslaught's leather-bound face. He shot and the bullet sped through the air with a loud bang. Then, suddenly, the bullet stopped in mid-air and morphed into a ball of chocolate. Protonslaught plucked it out of the air and tucked it into her pocket for later.

"That's cheating!" Deadpool whined like a tired toddler. "She doesn't know how to use her powers yet!"

The blonde hero rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a gigantic text on physics. "I've been studying."

"Are you kidding me?!" Deadpool screamed to the heavens. "That's such an abuse of power! You're seriously just gonna make her an expert with her powers out of nowhere, despite the fact that she's useless with science?! I wasn't aware I was fighting a damn Mary Sue!"

...You make a fair point.

The book vanished from Protonslaught's hand, and with it so did any knowledge she received from it. The mind wipe left her feeling temporarily dizzy, and with a flurry, she fell into a puddle of mud.

"That's more like it." Deadpool crossed his arms and nodded...then felt a spray of mud seep through his suit. "What the hell, dude?! That was just immature."

Can you just shut up and do your job? You're here to kill Protonslaught. Go ahead. We're all waiting.

"You know what? No! I won't be a pawn in your game!"

Deadpool took out a Bazooka from his shoe. Don't ask how it fit in there, it just did. Then he, once again, shot it at Protonslaught. The rocket was mere seconds away from hitting the dazed girl before a string of webs grabbed hold of it and spun it back towards Deadpool. The explosion was minimal, because I said it was, and the streets started to rain with Deadpool's blood, guts, and limbs. His head landed, perfectly perched, on top of his own ass.

"You think your clever, huh?" Deadpool said rather clearly for a decapitated head. "Well I'll be the one laughing when Civil War turns this book into an emo poetry reading."

No, you won't, because you won't be there.

"Why not?"

I don't like you.

"Huh. Fair enough." Deadpool huffed. "I'm starting to miss the point of me being here at all then."

There was a wild neighing as Spider-Man rode in on a mighty steed. He jumped off its chestnut-coloured back, and gave a relieved sigh as he helped Protonslaught to her feet. "Can you at least try and be a little more careful? That rocket could have killed you."

"Great. Just great. The incompetent hero, and the incompetent original character. I'm just gonna leave before this gets any lamer."

Deadpool tried to force his body back together, but his healing factor was working a little slower than he would have liked.

"Oh, fuck you."

Fuck you too, buddy. I needed a filler chapter, and you're it. You don't leave until I'm satisfied with your contribution.

Spider-Man interrupted the mercenary's retort. "You'll never guess what happened."

"You found a horse..." Deadpool muttered bitterly.

"Wow. How did you know?" Spider-Man said in amazement as that same horse nudged against his shoulder.

Protonslaught blinked rapidly at the talking head...not that anyone could see it beneath the mask. "How is he still alive?"

Spider-Man shrugged the question off entirely, not even remotely worried for the loud-mouthed loser's safety. "He can't die. Trust me. I've seen him in worse scrapes than this."

"I wish I was dead right about now." Deadpool hissed. "Prote, do me a favour and shoot yourself, would ya? I'm kind of occupied at the moment..."

"Why don't I just shoot you instead?" She huffed back.

"Go ahead. I won't really feel it until my body decides to pull itself back together...unless you aim for my face." Deadpool pondered. "Don't aim for my face."

Protonslaught tilted her head to the side much like a curious puppy. "If I shoot him in the face, is that considered a crime? Because, like...he won't die or anything."

Deadpool's severed arm flopped about, trying to function without any connection to the mercenary's incredibly small brain. Finally, the index finger flung out and pointed at the woman as if it were preparing to scold her. However, Deadpool relied on his mouth to do the talking instead. "Don't you dare, or I'll reveal your secret identity to Buggy over there."

Protonslaught's eyes widened in horror. "You know my...secret identity?"

"Who doesn't?! It's so obvious that I'm shocked this story lasted so long!" Deadpool turned back towards the sky and shouted. "I mean, come on, twenty chapters of absolute nonesense! They should have figured it out by now!"

Shut it you greasy, lasagna-faced loser. Don't ruin this for me. I'll literally feed you to Galactus if you try.

"You wouldn't..."

I would.

"I don't believe you."

Galactus, also known as the 'planet eater', appeared in the sky; his head the size of a whole planet in itself. He grabbed Deadpool's head with his massive fingers and gulped it down in one swallow. He left the rest of his scattered body where it was. Why? Because now it'll take even longer for him to piece himself back together. You're welcome.

Galactus then vanished from the horizon; his eyes twinkling like two distant stars beneath the morning clouds.

Fuck you, Deadpool.

Spider-Man and Protonslaught, admittedly bewildered by this entire ordeal, blinked at the pile of limbs in front of them. Spidey murmured "Was that...Galactus?"

"I don't even know who that is...but if he's a massive, gigantic guy in space then yes. That looked like him." Protonslaught answered, still staring at the sky as if she couldn't quite comprehend what had happened.

"Okay...well, this was eventful. I think maybe we should reschedule the whole 'teaching you physics' thing for another day."

Suddenly, Protonslaught jumped back into focus and shook her head. "No way! I need to learn how to use my powers! Some hallucinating weirdo isn't going to stop me, so it shouldn't stop you either."

Spidey sighed. Honestly, he would have looked for any excuse to get out of this whole teaching gig. He wasn't a fan of Protonslaught to begin with, and now he was stuck trying to help her learn about physics? It was a nightmare...but one that he knew he'd have to endure. Having control over atoms was a dangerous ability, especially in the hands of someone that didn't know how to use it.

"Fine." Spider-Man huffed, defeated. "We'll start with something simple. Try making a sandwich...make it ham and cheese. I haven't had that in a long time."

Protonslaught narrowed her eyes. "Are you tying to insult me?"

"What? I'm hungry. Is that a crime? The best part about your powers is the potential for free food."

Protonslaught scowled at him, and with a rather sour look, she obliged...well, she tried to. Reaching her hands out in front of her, she concentrated on the idea of a sandwich; what is a sandwich? What makes a sandwich a sandwich? Then, out of thin air, she created the most beautiful sandwhich mankind had ever laid eyes upon!... Just kidding. She didn't do that. It was a giant lump. She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was definitely something.

"Uh...What is that?" She asked in confusion.

Spider-Man hummed thoughtfully, dubbing his masked chin. He analysed the lump...he smelt the lump...he tapped on the lump. Then, when all else failed, he brought his mask up slightly, just past his lips, and licked the side. "Oh, yeah. That's pure carbon, one of the most common elements in the universe. Looks like we're getting somewhere."

Well, it was no sandwich but they were definitely getting closer to Spider-Man being able to leech food from Protonslaught for his services. What? He wasn't going to teach her all this for free when food was a possible payment.

"Ya call tha' a sandwich? It looks like a pile of fucking shiet." The very British accent of Gordon Ramsay suddenly attacked the morning air.

Protonslaught gasped at the sight of such an esteemed and decorated asshole, but before she could even open her mouths to reply, a bullet hit him square between the eyes.

Deadpool's severed hand dropped the gun and lifted his middle finger to the higher power that had forced him into yet another shitty Fanfiction.


	21. Twenty-One

**_Chapter Twenty-One: Beyond the Grave_**

"You don't understand..." Peter whispered from across the oaken table. "He killed Gordon Ramsay and I couldn't do anything to save him."

Mary Jane's perfectly green eyes swirled with uncertainty. Though she believed Peter's story, she hadn't heard anything about Gordon's death...and she had only just had tea with him last week! That was one of the perks of her rocketing model career; she met a lot of influential people. "Are you sure it wasn't an impersonator? There's a lot of them around here, especially this close to Halloween."

"Why does that matter?" Peter replied, almost appalled by her response. "The guy's dead and I couldn't stop it."

MJ sighed, heavily, and the sound whistled through her clenched teeth. "You're right, I'm sorry, I just-"

Suddenly, as if God himself (or herself) had changed the channel and cranked up the volume, the small television in the corner of the room drowned out the chatter within the cafe. It immediately grabbed their attention. A reporter stood inside the tiny box, a microphone grasped tightly in her hands.

"Yesterday afternoon renowned chef, restaurateur, and food critic, Gordon Ramsay, was shot in the head by what onlookers described as a 'dismembered hand'." The reporter relayed with a frown so tight that it had to be mostly fake. "Miraculously, the Johnstone-born personality survived with little to no serious injuries."

Peter let out an almighty exhale. It was so loud, in fact, that it almost sounded like a large gust of wind. He slumped in his seat, stretched his legs out until they were taking up most of Mary Jane's foot-space, then mumbled to himself. "Thank God..."

The red-head's lips twitched into a frown. "Am I the only one that thought that was a little too coincidental? I mean, that television wasn't even on the news channel the last time I checked...and how many people survive a bullet to the head?"

"I don't care. I'm just happy he's alive." Peter shrugged dismissively. "You're starting to sound like that weirdo Deadpool. He thinks we're all in some story, at the mercy of an all-powerful narrator. I mean, how insane is that?"

A laugh erupted from Peter's throat and it echoed through the cafe like a failing engine. Mary Jane, on the other hand, only gave one small chuckle. Deadpool didn't sound so crazy to her.

"Has your order been taken yet, Pete?" A familiar voice jolted through Peter's nervous system, throwing him out of his comfortable position and forcing him to sit up so straight that he looked like someone had stuck a pole in his back.

"Hey, Belle, I didn't know you were working today." Mary Jane spoke, ultimately saving Peter from stumbling over his words and embarrassing himself for the hundredth time in front of his crush.

"I'm filling in for someone." Annabelle responded, and Peter finally dared to glance over at her. Today, she was wearing a dress with shoulder pads so broad that it would make any 80s mom jealous. Her hair was almost left loose, except for the fringe that had been pinned back with a comically large bow. "Actually, I'm glad you're here. I've been meaning to speak to you."

Peter's eyes widened in a silent panic and his mind flooded with possibilities. Was she still mad about the whole thing with Aunt May? Did he have something on his face? In his teeth? Had he offended her with his weird staring?...even worse, had she noticed his weird staring?

"I got free tickets to the ARGENT Defence Hardware Presentation. I don't really know much about it, so I thought maybe you two would enjoy it a little more than I would." Annabelle rummaged into her pocket and took out two crumpled tickets. It made Peter wonder why she had been carrying them around...and what other junk she kept in her pockets.

Peter's heart leapt through his ribcage. ARGENT was Tony Stark's biggest competitor in the world of technological innovation. In this presentation they were, apparently, going to be showing their more military-geared products to the press, public, and backers... Peter knew this because he'd wanted to go, but he couldn't afford the ticket. "A-Are you serious?"

Annabelle nodded. "I wouldn't understand if I went anyway."

Mary Jane's eyes sparked mischievously. She could see the excitement on Peter's face, manifesting itself in a grin that temporarily hid his awkward demeanour. She had never enjoyed attending all that 'nerdy' stuff with him, and now he had a viable excuse to reject the offer. "Actually... I think Peter might prefer to go with you."

A hush fell over the table. Then, Peter gave the biggest gasp known to existence. Seriously. Bigger than the worldwide gasp when The Red Wedding on Game of Thrones aired.

"Really?" Annabelle's lips quirked into the tiniest little smile. It was the cutest thing Peter had ever seen...but he was so mortified by MJ's sudden outburst that he couldn't enjoy it.

"Yeah he talks about you all the time, you know." MJ continued without a shred of hesitation. "Says he wishes you two could spend more time together."

"Wh-What are you doing?" Peter whispered harshly. His cheeks were so red that they could put the surface of Mars to shame, but Mary Jane simply winked at him as if this wasn't the most humiliating moment of his life.

Annabelle giggled...or was that an angel sighing? No. That was ridiculous. Mary Jane's laugh was more like an angel. Annabelle's was something else. Something more earth-bound; the chorus of a Queen song or the sound of his favourite food being cooked. "That's...so sweet. I guess I can find the time then, if that's what Pete wants."

She glanced to the anxiety-riddled man, who could do nothing but bumble over his words. He was trying to speak, really he was, but it sounded like his tongue had suddenly swelled inside of his mouth. Then, Mary Jane kicked him from beneath the table with her bright red stiletto. He didn't really feel it, but it was certainly enough to jolt some sense back into him. "Y-Yeah! Sounds g-g-good."

"Great! Then are you guys ready to order?"

The simple answer was no. Peter was not ready to order. He could barely string two words together at the moment, let alone try and order the five dollar nuggets (that just happened to be on the kids menu).

Thankfully, Mary Jane spoke for him...just like she always did when she saw him struggling. "I'll have a ceasar salad and he'll have the wedges."

"Sour cream and sweet chilli on the side?"

"Yes, hon." MJ confirmed, trying not to chuckle at Peter's persistent glare. "Thank you."

Annabelle finished scribbling the order onto her notepad (decorating it with a few hearts), then hurried it back to the kitchen. Peter finally took a big gulp of air and muttered "Are you crazy?! Why did you do that?"

Mary Jane only smiled and winked teasingly at him. "I got your back, Tiger."

Peter wanted to be mad, but how could he? His own personal wingwoman had just secured him an outing with Annabelle Lee... Peter had almost allowed himself to feel elated by this news, happy even, and that was his own mistake. Nothing positive ever lasted in his life.

Think he's just being dramatic? Well, you'd be wrong. Peter was absolutely correct in the observation that his life erased any good experience with an equally negative one. That was only confirmed when the large window to the cafe was shattered, sending any nearby customers to the ground; including Peter and Mary Jane.

Murmurs and cries of shock filled the cafe, only amplifying as a figure loomed into view. He was green. That's all that Peter could observe through the panic, and he was riding a glider. It had sharp angles and was painted light purple. Then Pete finally saw it. The mask that haunted his nightmares...

"Is that...the Green Goblin?" Mary Jane yelled to Peter over the uproar of screams. "How is he alive?!"

Peter's heart froze solid in his chest. The memory of the original Green Goblin, Norman Osborn, impaling himself with a similar glider to the one this villain was riding still echoed in his mind. He was dead. Peter knew that for certain...so how was he there? "I don't know, just stay behind me."

The phantom didn't bother with anyone else in that cafe. He went straight for Peter...as if he had specifically targeted him. Peter pushed Mary Jane further behind his back, protectively, whilst also managing to look as intimidated as any normal person would have been when faced with a ghost.

"Peter Parker." The demon spoke, and he suddenly felt like he might vomit. "Where's Spider-Man?"

"Wh-What makes you think that I know where he is?" Peter stuttered back, lowly, and with an obvious crack of fear in his voice.

The Green Goblin didn't want to indulge in Peter's little game. Without another word, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Peter's neck. The grip was so tight that he could immediately feel the bruises rising on his skin, but oddly enough, not tight enough to cut off any possibility of oxygen.

Mary Jane gasped somewhere in the background. She muttered his name...but didn't dare move. She had seen him in situations like this for years now, and found that getting involved always made it worse.

"Don't play dumb with me." The Green Goblin hissed. His voice was modulated, so Peter couldn't tell whether it was really Norman back from the grave, or just a cheap copy.

The gentle clink of two plates knocking together permeated the air, completely dragging the green devil's eyes away from Peter...and towards Annabelle Lee. She was walking in with a bowl of spaghetti and a plate of fresh herb bread.

She paused and assessed the scene in front of her, then, her lips curled awkwardly. She stepped backwards, slowly at first, then a little faster as she tried to discreetly escape the dire situation.

Like a predator spotting it's prey, the Green Goblin released Peter from his grasp and lurched towards the waitress. "Well, you'd better find that little spider friend of yours, or this poor girl's going to suffer the consequences."

Without hesitation, he grasped her by the collar and nearly choked her. Still, she kept those plates steady in her hands. "W-Wait! At least let me put the food down first! People paid good money for this stuff!"

The Green Goblin snarled at her ridiculous request and pulled her into the glider with such force that the plates slipped from her hands. Annabelle gave a sharp inhale of horror, before turning to the elderly couple whose food was now splattered across the floor. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Don't worry, I'll get you a refund!"

The villain knocked her across the head, probably in an attempt to shut the quirky girl up, then shoved her over his shoulder. The Green Goblin's glider hummed as he sped back towards the broken window. "Tell Spider-Man to meet me at the Chrysler Building at ten o'clock tomorrow night. If not, I'll throw her from the top and see if her death grabs his attention."

He was gone before Peter had a chance to react...his heart tore from its icy shell, only to beat so hard against his ribcage that he thought it might break them. His face was ashen. His eyes were wide. His breath didn't exist. At least, he couldn't feel himself breathing. Maybe he was, but his lungs burned like they had been robbed of oxygen for almost an hour. He didn't know for sure because he couldn't focus anything but the fading figure of a dead man, and the girl that had revitalised his life.

Peter was trembling. He had wanted to stop this, but he was right in the centre. Everyone would have noticed if he snuck away to change into his Spider-Man get-up, and if he'd tried to fight Green Goblin in his civilian clothes then his aunt and MJ would have been in danger as well. Now that the criminal was out of sight, he couldn't even follow him. He'd have to play it by the Green Goblin's rules and meet him tomorrow night...but one thing was for certain, that villain wasn't Norman Osborn. Why? Because Norman had known Peter's secret identity, and this reiteration of the Goblin obviously didn't.

"She seemed a little calm for a first-time kidnapping victim..." Mary Jane suddenly muttered from beside him. "I know from personal experience that she should have been a little more shaken up-"

Peter flashed her an irritated look and Mary Jane quickly trailed off the subject.

"Sorry...everyone reacts differently. Now's not the time." MJ apologised sincerely, but that thought didn't leave her. There was something weird going on. Annabelle was certainly a strange girl, but she had just been threatened by a known murderer...and hadn't reacted to it at all; as if she wasn't even remotely scared of him. For any normal person, that was just a little too unusual.


	22. Twenty-Two

**_Chapter Twenty-Two: The Consequences_**

Peter wasn't exactly thrilled about a Green Goblin threatening to throw one of the women in his life off a famous New York landmark. It didn't...uh, go too well the last time...so he wasn't going to take this sitting down. He was the kind of person that, when someone had the nerve to threaten someone important to him, it was no more mister nice guy.

First he started working leads...trying to figure out who exactly this new Goblin was...and whether it was Norman or not. Yes, I know what you're thinking. 'That is ridiculous, Norman Osborn is legit dead and you kind of set up Harry in the last couple chapters'. True. But Peter doesn't know any of that. You must remember, he fights a dude called Doctor Octopus fairly regularly and remembers the time when Captain America's dead best friend from World War II wasn't actually dead nor his best friend, since he was turned into a brainwashed, cyborg, communist assassin by...well, communists. So yes, let's forgive Spidey for thinking that maybe his worst foe, responsible for the death of his old girlfriend Gwen Stacy, had somehow come back to life.

And where did these leads go, exactly? Nowhere. The new Goblin was a ghost. Hadn't shown up anywhere or done anything before his attack on Burgatori.

Despite the immense urge he had to punch a hole in his apartment wall, he wanted his safety deposit back so he chose to not do that. Instead, he somehow managed to hold it together until his dinner date with the devil.

Peter scaled the Chrysler Building, sprinting up its surface like Usain Bolt. His mind raced...he could barely think straight. He didn't want it to happen again...he couldn't lose Annabelle. Every few seconds, the image of him cradling a lifeless corpse in his arms as he screamed filtered into his brain. Tears welled in his eyes. He could still remember Gwen's death so cleary...

The wall crawler finally leapt onto one of the bird-shaped ornaments towards the tip of the structure, and peered around with attentive eyes.

Right on cue, a streak of yellow traced through the night sky, accompanied by a screeching roar that gave Spidey chills. It was the same glider...same engine.

The craft arced downward from above and slowed to a hover several metres from the building.

"Where is she!?" Spider-Man screamed.

The Goblin stood tall atop his glider, his flight suit glimmering in the darkness. Everything...everything was the same. The mask, the suit, the explosives lining his belt...even the ghastly reflections in the gold eyepieces. He scoffed and replied "Safe."

Spider-Man clenched a fist. "Not good enough!"

"I'm going to gut you like a fish for what you did." The Goblin spat, not exactly helping Peter's uncertainty regarding his true identity.

Peter launched into the air, firing web lines with both hands onto the Goblin, yanking himself closer. He hurtled into the villain with a would-be bone crushing blow, grappling with angered rage.

The two, struggling against each other, spiralled out of control like a wayward firework. As they plummeted down, Peter bore his teeth as he slammed punch after punch into the Goblin's face. At that point...he hesitated. Norman wasn't a slouch in a fight, he always knew what he was doing. Peter instantly knew this wasn't Norman because he was fighting like he had no idea how to. Unfocused swinging...great strength, but no skill.

As the street grew larger, the Goblin managed to snap an elbow across Spidey's face, cracking his nose. Peter's grip loosened, and the Goblin took his shot. "I wanted to kill her in front of you so you could know my pain. Now that I have you...I'd rather just do this." The Goblin lashed out with a front kick, sending Peter backwards with a 'crack'.

Peter's breathing hitched as gravity sucked his insides toward the ground. He desperately shot a web out towards the glider, but it was slightly off mark.

Spidey plummeted from the clouds like a sack of bricks. He flailed, pushing the web shooters erratically; hoping to find something...anything, to grab onto. Finally, his web latched onto the side of an apartment complex, and he swung himself back up towards the Goblin. He kicked in mid-air, and finally the villain's feet broke free of the glider's straps.

The Green Goblin went plummeting through the air, but before he could hit the ground, Spider-Man swooped in and threw him onto a nearby rooftop. The villain groaned at the impact, but that was silenced with a quick punch to the jaw.

"Stop messing around!" The webslinger growled, and as the dazed criminal tried to recover from the sudden attack, Spider-Man punched him again. "Where is she?!"

A cackle filled the air, deeper than thunder and shallower than a footprint. The sound was completely hollow...as if it took all of his energy just to make that sound. "Go fuck yourself."

Unbridled rage spiked in the pit of Peter's stomach. All he could think about was Annabelle's safety...and the horrid thought that she may suffer the same fate as Gwen. He didn't know if he could bare it happening again.

He couldn't stop himself. Peter brought his fist against the Goblin's helmet once more...then twice...then a dozen more times until the night was riddled with the sound of metal against bone. Blood seeped through his glove and his knuckles threatened to break with each punch, and yet he couldn't stop.

The metal mask buckled with each impact, and finally it cracked. One more fist was all it took before that piece snapped off - revealing a pair of familiar blue eyes. Spider-Man's fist halted.

"No..." He muttered, but his voice was weak...broken. Denial consumed him almost completely as he positioned both hands over the crack, and tore the mask right open. "Harry..."

For a few seconds Peter did not move, or even breathe, apparently. He was consumed by a sorrow so heart-wrenching that he thought it might destroy him. Then, at last, he gave a sorrowful gulp and tried to suck in a mouthful of oxygen for his empty lungs.

"So, you know me? Was that before or after you killed my father." Harry hissed, and a fresh supply of blood coated his teeth.

"I...didn't kill him." Spider-Man croaked, almost pleadingly. This was all just a bad dream. It had to be. The world couldn't be cruel enough to expect him to arrest his best friend. "You have to believe me..."

"You killed Gwen Stacy too, didn't you?" Harry growled. "That's what the papers said. My best friend could barely cope after her death. You might fool the rest of the world, but I see right through you. I'll avenge every single person that you've hurt."

Peter could barely think, let alone speak. Harry had been the very first friend he ever had. They had helped each other through the worst parts of High School and moved in together for a small period of time afterwards. They had the kind of unbreakable bond that Peter could only imagine brothers to have...and now he was being forced to watch Harry follow in his father's footsteps. It was one of the most painful things he had ever experienced.

"Listen to me, Norman was sick. Really sick. He wasn't in control of himself when he became the Green Goblin. He-"

"Don't talk about my father. You don't have the right." Harry grabbed something out of his pocket and pressed his thumb over it. "I can't kill you yet, but I can hurt you. I can make you feel my pain...one person at a time."

Finally, Spider-Man managed to decipher the device in Harry's hand without his head spinning. It was a bomb, or more accurately, the trigger for one. Peter's breath hitched.

Annabelle...

"N-No! Please, don't." He begged, voice cracking and breaking until it was barely a whisper. "She's innocent. You wouldn't kill her. That's not who you are."

"You don't know anything about me."

Without a moment's hesitation, Harry lifted his finger and the city was consumed by an almighty boom. The sound rang in Peter's ears, painfully, and yet it was nothing compared to the yell that tore itself from his own throat. A thick cloud of smoke was whirling in the distance - tormenting him with his failure.

Spider-Man didn't even bother incarcerating Harry. He couldn't. Every single thought was outweighed by an agonising grief. Instead, he jumped off that roof and swung towards the smoke, eyes stinging with tears with every second that passed.

When he arrived, he found an abandoned warehouse that had been rendered to nothing but debris. Hoping against logic that she had survived such a blast, Peter clawed through the ruins on his hands and knees. "Annabelle!" He yelled until his throat was raw. "Annabelle! I'm here! P-Please, answer me!"

He was greeted with nothing but an eerie silence that ripped through his chest like saw. Still, he continued searching until his hands stung and the crystalline tears in his eyes had started to fall; soaking through the mask until it was riddled with wet patches.

Something stuck itself to his gloves like tar, and when he finally regained his vision through the blur of tears, he looked down to see that the substance was yellow. It had adhered itself to many of the bits of wood and rock that he had been digging in.

"What the hell?..." He brought the goop to his mask and sniffed, long and deep. It had a very distinct smell. Peter would recognise it anywhere. It was cheese.

Upon making this astounding discovery, Peter took a second look at the debris. It was filled with everything from horse shoes to a giant trombone. There was only one person stupid enough to make all that junk. Protonslaught.

So, if Annabelle was there...

And Protonslaught was there...

Inside this relatively unknown warehouse...

At the same time...

That could only mean one thing...

Protonslaught...

...

...

Had saved Annabelle!


	23. Twenty-Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Et Tu, Brute?**

Peter sat on his bed for most of the day; staring at the flakes of paint that were starting to peel off the walls of his apartment. He was so shocked that he could barely force himself to blink. Protonslaught had managed to save Annabelle at the very last minute, but that was of little consolation to someone who just found out that their best friend was trying to kill them.

At this point, he should have been used to it. After all, his role model had become Doctor Octopus, his old roommate was a villain called Boomerang, one of his High School professors was the notorious criminal Jackal, the son of his boss at The Daily Bugle had briefly been Man-Wolf, and the creator of F.E.A.S.T (a shelter for homeless people that Aunt May volunteered at) was Mister Negative. It was unsettlingly common for Peter to know these villains outside of the suit...but this was different. This was Harry. His best friend since childhood, and one of the few people that could actually console Peter after his uncle died.

Long story short, this sucked. Hard. There really wasn't anything that Peter could compare it to. It was like...losing a limb or something. He wasn't going to let it happen. Not without at least trying to convince Harry away from the path he had chosen. So, with a heavy heart and a broken belt struggling to keep his pants secure, Peter finally left his apartment.

It wasn't long before Oscorp was towering above him, casting shadows across the ground like an ominous warning. The steps leading into the building was absolute chaos; people running in and out as if it were a mini-marathon. It was always busy there, which was why Peter rarely visited Harry at work.

Inside of the building was even worse; a winding labyrinth full of chattering tourists and busy scientists. It was a miracle that Peter even managed to find his way to Harry's office in such an atmosphere. Somehow he did though, and when he arrived his friend was sorting through a pile of documents left sprawled across his desk.

"Bad time?" Peter asked sheepishly, earning a rather loud gasp of fright from the young billionaire.

"Pete?" Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but despite his tone, he didn't look quite like himself. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes were lined with dark circles. "Not at all! Did you need something?"

Peter chewed on his bottom lip and kicked his sneaker against the carpet. Harry's casual attitude was making this harder. It was only now that he realised that he had no idea how to bring his concerns into the light without revealing himself as Spider-Man."Oh, uh, not really. Just thought I'd...check up on you."

Harry raised an impossibly neat eyebrow in Peter's direction, then managed to force a smile. "I appreciate it, but as you can see, I'm completely fine."

"Yeah, it's just that...are you sure there isn't anything you want to talk to me about?"

Harry's expression shifted to one of absolute bewilderment. "No, why would there be?"

Peter tried not to look directly into Harry's eyes. It felt as if he could see Norman in them; the psychotic grin and the blood of Gwen Stacy on his hands. "I don't know... You've been acting a little strange of late, and I just wanted to make sure that you were alright."

"Strange?" Harry repeated sceptically. "We haven't seen each other since your birthday, Pete."

"Right...but at my birthday you were acting weird." Peter tried again, but it was obvious that he was reaching for any excuse at this point.

Harry dropped a handful of documents back onto his desk and sauntered towards his childhood friend, hands dug deep into his pockets and brow furrowed in slight confusion. "Okay, what's this about? If you have something to say, then say it plainly."

Peter gulped back the bile that had arisen in his throat. He felt physically nauseous at the idea of this conversation becoming more tense than it already was...but this was a serious matter. Harry had almost killed Annabelle, and that couldn't be ignored. "I know who you are, Harry. I know what you've done."

Harry's eyes flared with something unfamiliar. A deep, unfiltered rage that boiled in his veins and tore at his mind. "And who exactly am I?"

Finally, Peter met his gaze and in that moment he knew that his friend was gone. There was too much hostility...too much anger. "You're not who I thought you were. You're a criminal...an attempted murderer."

There was a second, however brief, in which Harry's jaw clenched in irritation. Still, he managed to wipe that expression off his face for long enough to feign ignorance. "What are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb...please. This is hard enough without having to drag it out."

The room fell into utter silence. Even the hurried shuffling of the Oscorp employees outside of the office couldn't puncture it. Nothing could...nothing except Harry's sudden mumbling. The only remaining Osborn shook his head, discreetly, and to no one but himself. "But...he's my best friend..."

Peter narrowed his gaze at Harry. He was acting as if he had completely forgotten that Peter was in the room, or at the very least, that he was still capable of hearing him...but the bigger question was why Harry was talking to himself in the first place. Though he had always been a relatively tortured soul, Harry had never been insane. Well, not until right now.

"Harry... I'm sorry, I just need to know why you did it." Peter pleaded with him, hoping to find some small semblance of the friend he had once treasured. "Please. You need to explain it to me."

Hardy grabbed a fistful of his own hair and pulled, frustrated, as he slumped against the distant wall. There was a window next to him, but the light shining through it didn't reach him. He was consumed only by shadow. "He...made me do it."

"Who?" Peter pressed, gripping desperately at the possibility that Harry wasn't truly a criminal; that he had been forced into it. "Who made you do it?"

As Peter lingered closer to his distressed friend, he noticed that Harry's teeth were bared animalistically. There was something else there. No, someone else. Living inside of Harry like cancer. "I can't...he'll kill me..."

At last, Peter reached his friend and grabbed him by the shoulders. He could feel them trembling beneath his hands...and that's when Peter made the most baffling discovery. Harry was crying. In all the years that Peter had known him, he had never seen him cry. He always tried to hide that part of himself...to appear stronger than he felt. Peter tried to remain strong, for Harry's sake, but the mere sight of his friend in so much pain made his eyes well up. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Harry. You know that. Tell me what's going on."

Something shifted in Harry's eyes. He looked up at Peter, tears falling down his face even more rapidly than before, and latched onto Peter's arms like a vice. It all happened so quickly. Too quickly for Peter to completely comprehend the situation. Within less than a minute, Harry had pulled Peter over to the window, and thrown him out with strength almost equal to his own.

The glass shattered around Peter, tearing into flesh and reflecting his own shocked visage as he fell. Harry stood somewhere above him, unable to watch, and yet still present as his friend plummeted towards his ultimate demise.

Shock twisted around Peter's entire body like barbed wire. The wind stung against his skin and emptied his mind of everything besides the man that had pushed him out of the window. Peter had almost hit the ground when he finally aimed a bunch of web fluid back towards the Oscorp building and swung himself back up.

Harry had turned away from the smashed window when Peter threw himself back through it, but the sound of ragged breathing quickly grasped his attention again.

"You...tried to kill me..." Peter's voice shook with horror. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined Harry being capable of such a betrayal.

The young Osborn tensed at the sound of his voice, then very slowly, glanced over his shoulder. The crystalline tears were still sparkling against his cheeks, but that sorrow was quickly replaced with horror. His face completely drained of all colour, as if he was staring at a phantom, and he stumbled backwards on unsteady feet. The web shooter on Peter's right wrist was somewhat visible now and still had a strand of the rope-like substance connected to it.

"No..." Harry mumbled, eyes wide and breath growing shallow. "It can't be you...it can't be..."

Peter mirrored Harry's disbelief, but not for the same reasons. Instead, he stood motionless by the window - staring betrayal in the face. "How could you?...you're like a brother to me, Harry."

His words never reached Harry - the boy's mind was somewhere else, consumed by a darkness that very few could even comprehend. "You killed my father..."

"No. I didn't." Peter snapped back. He had wanted to tell him that for so long now...but he never thought he'd get the opportunity. "Norman was the one trying to kill me...but I jumped out of the way and he was impaled by his own glider. I promise you, Harry. I didn't want him to die."

The shock on his face soon flared into unbridled rage. His face, which had turned a sickly pale, was now dark red. "You're lying. After everything we did for you, Pete...my father treated you like his own son, and you killed him!"

"That's not true. You have to know that by now." Peter almost sounded like he was pleading with Harry. "He was The Green Goblin...he was killing people. He killed Gwen!"

"No, you killed Gwen."

It wasn't true...not really, and yet Peter was suddenly racked with guilt. The memory of his ex-girlfriend's death played in his head over and over again, like a skipping record that never allowed him to move forward or backwards. Norman Osborn had thrown her off the Brooklyn Bridge, but it wasn't the fall that killed her. It was Peter's own idiocy. He had aimed a web at her, and in his panic, he didn't consider the sheer velocity that she was falling with. He managed to grab her mere inches away from the water, but the web had stopped her fall too suddenly. It jolted her entire body to a halt, and the resulting whiplash broke her neck.

Peter spent the better part of four years trying to convince himself that it wasn't his fault, but he never truly believed it. He knew that, though he wasn't the one who pushed her off that bridge, he had been the one that killed her.

"No...you weren't there. You don't know what happened." Peter hissed. "You need help, Harry. You're losing it. I'm taking you in."

"Taking me in? Under what charges exactly? You're the one that broke into my office with nothing but wild accusations...and I'm sure the police will be eager to know the identity of their precious Spider-Man." Harry's hand lingered beneath his desk and pressed against the red panic button that was hidden there. An alarm sounded and Peter's heart almost stopped completely. If he was caught here, Harry would surely say that he was a threat and he'd be taken to the police station. Peter couldn't allow that to happen. Not now that Harry knew his secret.

Peter's gaze never left Harry as he stepped back towards the smashed window. Somehow, it felt like he was staring at an empty shell; a husk of the friend he once had. He had been hollowed out and replaced with an unfathomable amount of hatred and paranoia. He looked exactly like Harry Osborn, but he had the eyes of a stranger.

Just as the security personnel reached their current level in the building, Peter flung himself from the window and swung out of sight.

He only landed when he was positive that he had slipped out of their field of vision, and covered his web shooter's with the sleeve of his shirt. Peter was already shaking with the effort it took not to break down when he finally walked out of the alleyway...and that only worsened when he found himself face-to-face with a newspaper stand. Two issues were laid out, both mocking Peter's already fragile state.

One sported a blurry picture of The Green Goblin carrying Annabelle away with the headline 'New Goblin Kidnaps College Student', and the other was a newer photo from their recent fight. It read 'Is Spider-Man Working With The New Green Goblin?'. He didn't know where they could have possibly gotten that idea during their intense battle, but propaganda and lies apparently sold more papers than the truth. For instance, the disappearance of Hexterminator was still rife with conspiracy theories that they published weekly.

Peter turned away from the newspaper stand rather bitterly. He needed to get away...somewhere quiet where he could scream at the top of his lungs and punch something down. Unfortunately, due to his refusal to lift his gaze from the ground, he soon found himself bumping into someone and jumping back in shock.

Now, there were millions of people living in New York. Peter could have bumped into any of them...but that's not how his luck worked. Of all the individuals stalking those streets, Peter had knocked into the one person that he wished that he hadn't.

"Omg, Pete?!" Annabelle gasped in shock. "Weird how we're always running into each other, right?"

Typically, Peter would have been glad to see her but he was on the verge of tears, and two seconds away from crumbling. He didn't want her to witness his descent into mental instability, and so he tried his best to hold his emotions in place. "Yeah...hey, uh, are you alright?

"Me? Yeah, I'm great!" Annabelle grinned and adjusted her baggy jacket higher onto her shoulders. "Why?"

Peter couldn't even muster the energy to be confused by her nonchalant reply, though it was still quite perplexing. "Because...you were kidnapped?"

Annabelle's eyes widened and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "Oh! Right! Umm..."

"Protonslaught saved you, didn't she?"

The girl blinked cluelessly at him before vigorously nodding her head. "Yeah! That's exactly what happened. I didn't really know her name but she was super cool...she fought like 60...no, more like a hundred dudes to get to me!"

"Really?" Peter struggled to reply without sounding too depressed. "Thought they said there was no one there in the paper."

"That's 'cause she scared them all off."

Usually Annabelle's quirky nature was somewhat charming to Peter, to the point where just being in her presence brightened his day...but this time was different. Her knee-high socks depicting various pictures of cucumbers simply didn't bring him the joy that it typically did. "Look, I gotta go. I'm sorry."

Peter tried to leave, more for Annabelle's sake than his own. He wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend like his life wasn't falling apart at the seams...but before he could take more than two steps he felt Annabelle's hand grab his own. He turned, surprised by the sudden contact but still unable to conceal his pain.

"Pete...you're bleeding." Annabelle frowned, and Peter finally examined himself fully. Blood was starting to soak his clothes from where the glass had pierced his skin. "What happened?"

"I...just fell. I'm fine." Peter murmured, trying not to meet her gaze in fear that she would see right through his facade.

"I don't believe you." Annabelle replied, bringing her free hand up to graze against his cheek tenderly. Peter wanted so desperately to melt into her touch, but his mind was racing and his muscles were so tense that it was starting to make his body ache.

"It's nothing." Peter sighed. "I just found out that my friend wasn't who I thought he was...that's it. Really."

"Et Tu, Brute?" Annabelle replied and Peter's eyes darted up in absolute bewilderment.

"E-Excuse me?"

"They were Caesar's last words, after he was betrayed by his best friend...means 'You too, Brutus?'."

Peter stared at her in a hefty mixture of confusion and disbelief. He should have expected her to say something completely random and unrelated to his sorrow...and, strangely enough, it brought him a small amount of comfort. Now that Annabelle's strange reply had pulled him out of his own distress, Peter suddenly realised that Harry knew everything about his life; including the people he cared for most.

Peter's face quickly became bereft of all colour, and regret hit Annabelle straight in the stomach. "God, I'm sorry...that's probably not the best thing to say. I'm not great at comforting people..."

"N-No...I appreciate the thought." Peter quickly responded, dread flooding his system and overwhelming any other emotion he had previously been feeling. He needed to gather anyone that Harry might target, and get them to safety...maybe even contact Clint for extra protection. He'd start with Annabelle and Aunt May, then he'd fetch MJ. "I actually need your help with something. Is there any chance you could come with me to my aunt's house? I need someone to keep her company while I run a few errands."

Annabelle was understandably a little sceptical about this strange request, but she didn't argue with him. She simply smiled and nodded eagerly. "Sure, if it'll help!"


	24. Twenty-Four

**_Chapter Twenty-Four: Hawkeye, The Witness Protection Agent_**

"Ouch!" Peter whined as MJ plucked out yet another shard of glass from his exposed back. "Can't you be a bit more careful?"

"Stop complaining. You've hurt yourself worse than this plenty of times." Mary Jane scolded. Her hands were soaked in blood from Peter's multiple lacerations, and though she loved him dearly, patching him up after every conflict was something that she didn't miss at all. "You're gonna be here for a lot longer if you don't stop squirming."

As if in direct opposition to her warning, Peter jumped at a particularly intense stinging on his right shoulder blade. "Damn it...we don't have time for this. I need to get you somewhere safe."

"You're not going anywhere until I've gotten the rest of this glass out." She replied sternly, but there was a waver in her voice that jabbed Peter directly in the chest. She sounded so heartbroken. Peter almost wished that he hadn't told her about the new Green Goblin.

"Look, about Harry..." Peter started, but he was quickly cut off by Mary Jane's reply.

"I can't believe that he'd do something like that..." Her hands halted in the middle of his back, and he could feel them trembling with the effort not to cry. "I thought he was better than that."

"He's sick, MJ. Not in his right mind." Peter tried to comfort her but he knew that it was hopeless. She had been just as close to Harry as Peter; they had even dated at one point in High School. "Whoever that guy is, it's not Harry. That's why I gotta get you out of here."

Mary Jane sighed. Somehow, even when she wasn't dating Peter, she still seemed to find herself in danger. It was like a lifetime curse or a brand seared deep into her skin - just by knowing Peter, she was in constant peril. "Yeah, you're right. I've gotten most of the glass out anyway...but I'll need to take Eddie with me."

Peter slumped over, an intense frown burrowing into his features. "Why?"

"I know you don't like him, but if Harry comes for me and Eddie's still here he'll be in just as much danger as I am."

"It's not that I don't like him...it's just that-"

"He's dating your ex. I know." Mary Jane interrupted him, and as usual, she was right. Eddie really seemed like a nice guy, and most importantly, he treated Mary Jane like a queen...but it was difficult not to resent him. Peter didn't regret the decision to break up with MJ, but he still cared for her deeply.

As if on cue, or by the power of some cruel narrator, the apartment door swung open. Eddie entered with bags full of groceries and was met with the most perplexing sight of his life - his girlfriend touching the exposed back of her ex.

"Oh, hey Eddie!" MJ said rather chipperly, apparently unaware of how compromising this scene would have looked.

Peter gave the most awkward wave of his life, but Eddie didn't return it. "Peter... What are you doing in my house? No, let me rephrase that. What are you doing shirtless in my house?"

Any excuse that could have been made immediately became clogged in Peter's throat. The worst part was that he wasn't even doing anything to feel guilty about...

"Easy, Tiger. I'm just patching him up." Mary Jane replied smoothly. "He fell down a flight of stairs and went out a window."

Any scepticism that had once dominated Eddie's features quickly shifted into concern. He could now clearly see the injuries scattered across Peter's body like gory constellations. "Oh my god, are you alright?"

MJ smiled and patted Peter's back. The boy hissed at the pain jolting up his spine. "Don't worry, it was just the ground floor."

Still relatively worried despite Mary Jane's reassurance, Eddie shuffled into the apartment and placed the shopping into their newly polished counter. "I don't know, babe. He looks pretty badly hurt."

Eddie took out two large cartons of orange juice and started packing them into their silver chrome fridge. MJ, noticing the panicked expression that Peter was wearing, silently moved towards the sink to wash the blood off her hands then slipped her arms around Eddie's waist. "He'll be fine. He's come to take us somewhere."

Eddie raised an eyebrow at this news, but wasn't going to deny Mary Jane's touch. He leaned into her embrace and Peter tried not to gag at the sight. He was happy for them...really...but he also didn't want to ever see them being all lovey dovey.

"Where exactly are we going?" Eddie questioned.

"The Asiatic Hotel." Peter quickly responded, realising that he hadn't even told MJ that little bit of information yet.

"Uh...why?"

"We don't know yet, hon." Mary Jane soothed his tense shoulders with her hands. "I'm sure we'll find out when we get there. Trust me when I say it's important though."

Peter thought that it would take a little longer to convince Eddie out of the apartment...but apparently having killer looks like MJ meant that she could persuade anyone into anything. It only took five minutes before they were all exiting the building and travelling towards the hotel. When they arrived, Annabelle and Aunt May were discussing the 'better' era of music including Frankie Valli and Elvis Presley. However, the protection that Peter had organised wasn't there yet.

Now, what do you think an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. would look like if he was coming to brief a group of your loved ones as he takes them into protective custody? Maybe wearing one of them cool jumpsuits with the straps and pouches and stuff? Yeah, maybe a pair of sunglasses too. And leather boots. Actually, I don't care what you think. I don't even care what I think, because this supervising S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was decked out in the most flattering attire imaginable as he shuffled into the hotel room, one hand clutching a briefcase and the other a cup of coffee from the Starbucks across the street.

The agent shut the door with his sandalled foot, then inhaled sharply. A pink Hawaiian shirt a few sizes too big loosely draped his frame, and a pair of khaki shorts revealed his mildly hairy legs. The group of people before him stared in silence.

"Hi. I'm...wait...hey kid, c'mere." He beckoned Peter Parker, who urgently dashed to his aid. The agent handed him the coffee then used his newly freed hand to reach into his pocket and retrieve his wallet. Like a trained professional, he flipped it open with one hand and said "Clint Barton, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Eddie snatched the ID from Clint's hand, and scrutinised it as Mary Jane rolled her eyes and sighed, "Eddie...this guy's famous. I'd know his mug anywhere."

"Can never be too sure. You ever hear about a guy called the Chameleon?" Eddie warned.

MJ shot a glance at Peter, perhaps suggesting that she in fact had heard of a guy called the Chameleon, maybe even had a very close encounter with said guy due to the fact that she, unbeknownst to her current lover, was previously in a relationship with the Spectacular Spider-Man. Now, we leave the obnoxiously long sentences behind as Annabelle widened her eyes in shock.

She pointed at Clint and remarked, "You're him! You're Hawkman!"

Clint stared at Annabelle with a gaze of pure, utter disappointment that spoke volumes about how sick of being called 'Hawkguy' or 'Hawkman' or 'Birdman' he was. He straight up ignored the girl and continued. "We've gathered intelligence that's led us to believe that Harry Osborn was involved in Annabelle's abduction several days ago. Seeing as he's kind of a nutjob, we feel like anyone close to Osborn may be at risk. So to ensure your personal safety, we will provide protection to you until the matter's been resolved. Y'all cool with that?" He said, plucking his wallet back from Eddie, stashing it in his pocket, then securing his coffee with blinding finesse.

Aunt May shook her head in disbelief. "Mister Barton, what you say simply can't be true. I've known young Harry Osborn since he was ten years old, and he's always been such a good boy."

Clint stared off into the distance with a smirk and huffed in amusement. "Heh. Yeah, okay sure, grandma. So we cool, or--"

Peter cocked his head. "Hey, that's my aunt. Show some respect, alright?" He scalded.

Hawkeye, in his suave civilian dress, blinked in surprise at Peter's snappy response. Annabelle looked like a hormonal teenaged girl watching a boy band concert as she stared at Peter's tense expression.

Clint scoffed. "Woah there cowboy, I think you need a time out. Come on."

As Peter begrudgingly followed Barton out of the room, Eddie, May, Annabelle, and MJ watched awkwardly. Clint locked the door behind him and led Peter down the hall to avoid eavesdropping.

Peter exhaled in frustration. "Dude. I told you not to mention that it was Harry. Aunt May isn't going to take that well...she's going to be worried. He was at my freaking birthday party."

After a sip of his cold coffee, Clint rolled his eyes. "I don't know man, I've got so many things to keep track of. I can't remember everything."

"So when are the other agents coming?"

"Huh? Other agents? What other agents?"

"...I thought you said trained snipers were gonna be here to watch the street."

"Yeah. You got one." He said, gesturing at himself.

Peter's skin paled. "...I called you because I thought you were gonna get a squad down here or something. They're in real danger, Clint."

"I got this, bug boy. Don't worry about it."

"I don't think you're taking this seriously enough."

"Come on. Don't you trust me?"

"No."

"Good choice. Now get outta here and let me do my job. Go take care of Emerald Elf or whatever the heck his name is."

This conversation didn't exactly fill Peter with confidence, but Clint was an Avenger so he had to be at least somewhat useful...right? Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question. One that Peter didn't want to ponder any further, or he might find it impossible to leave the most important people in his life in Clint's care.


	25. Twenty-Five

**_Chapter Twenty-Five: Something Bad Happens To Peter_**

Is anyone actually surprised by the title? Something bad always happens to Peter Parker. Yesterday it was finding out that his best friend of almost a decade was now trying to kill him, this morning it was being pushed out a window, and right now it was arriving at his apartment to see it engulfed in flames.

Decked out in his usual Spider-Man attire, Peter swung to the ground and found himself amongst a sea of distressed residents. The flames had consumed the entire building - painting the sky a vibrant red and specking it with embers like tiny stars.

It didn't take long for Peter to deduce that this had been Harry's doing, and suddenly, he was relieved that he had moved any potential targets to an undisclosed location. That still didn't erase the guilt he felt at not predicting Harry destroying an entire apartment block. He should have seen this coming...he should have found some way to stop it. At the very least, he had to make sure that everyone got out safely.

Peter's first instinct was to find the chief firefighter, who was currently directing his men towards the largest influx of flames on the right hand side of the building. He somehow got his attention for long enough to say, "What's the situation?"

"Oh, it's you." The firefighter said, seeming somewhat underwhelmed by the webslinger's presence. "Most of the residents got out before the fire got too bad...but we think the landlord's still stuck on the fifth floor."

Peter's next breath was immediately stolen from his lungs. Mr. Ditkovich was still up there...and it was all his fault. Without waiting for any further information, Spider-Man dashed towards the crumbling structure. It didn't look like it would stay upright for much longer, it was burning like a bonfire set with gasoline. Even the front door was already beyond recognition; paint bubbled on it's exterior, and Peter dared not to touch it directly.

Instead, he aimed a web at the building next door. It hadn't been touched by the flames yet, but the smoke was so thick in the air that everyone within a one mile radius had evacuated their homes.

With all the grace and finesse that most spiders lacked, Peter pulled himself skyward and smashed through the fifth floor window with the soles of his boots. He cringed at the sound of glass shattering around him. He could still feel his body stinging from his last encounter with a window...luckily this time none of the shards managed to puncture his skin.

"Hey!" Spider-Man called into the thick smoke and searing heat. "Is anyone up here?!"

It was hard to hear anything over the intense crackling of each flame that surrounded him, but as he continued forward, he could detect the faintest muffled cry coming from down the hall.

The walls around him screamed in agony, melting and hissing until it threatened to collapse on top of him. Still, Peter didn't waver. He ran as fast as his legs could take him - ignoring the bitter singe of the fire as it lapped at his suit. He could see the left arm of Mr. Ditkovich through the chaos, but the rest of him was buried under a large heap of rubble.

"Oh my god..." Peter gasped. An enormous flame blocked his path, and as he jumped through it he could feel his entire body burning. His costume was treated with heat retardant solution that prevented it from catching fire...but that didn't mean that he couldn't feel it furling around him like a fever.

"Spider-men, am down here!" Ditkovich's strong Russian accent was barely audible beneath the pile of collapsed roofing.

"Don't worry, I'll get you out of here." Peter tried to sound as calm as he possibly could despite knowing that time was running short.

He examined the debris, and discovered that it had fallen with a slight tilt. This meant that it was still somewhat supported by the structure above it and was not completely crushing Ditkovich yet. It would though, if it wasn't moved. Peter took a few deep breaths so prepare himself, then finally grabbed hold of the bottom slab of wood. He pulled, and heaved, and strained with all of his might but the heavy debris only moved one inch at a time.

Peter growled and applied even more pressure to the debris - every muscle ached, and every tendon stretched. His arms felt like they were being torn to sunders but he still didn't stop. Not until that collapsed roof was on his shoulders and he was pushing it further away from Mr. Ditkovich.

The landlord scrambled backwards into the searing red light of the flames where Peter could clearly see the injuries that he had sustained. He was burnt, but Peter couldn't tell how severe it was. With a grunt of exertion, Spider-Man finally let the debris drop from his shoulders...but as it did, the rest of the roofing trembled. Coughing at the smoke attacking his lungs, Peter grabbed Ditkovich's arm, wrapped it around his shoulders, then dashed back towards the window that he had entered through.

As he dove out and formed a web to swing on, he could hear the landlord's erratic screaming. Apparently, he wasn't a big fan of heights. Even as they landed to safety the Russian man was shivering.

"What were you doing up there?" The chief firefighter said, watching as the medical team swiftly covered Ditkovich's mouth with a respirator. "We told everyone to evacuate."

"Parker still inside. You hev to get boy!" Ditkovich coughed, and the sound echoed through his chest. "Never hev rent, but is good boy. Fire will keel him!"

Peter tried to bury the guilt that stabbed at his stomach. Not only was he to blame for all these people losing their homes, but he'd almost gotten Mr. Ditkovich killed as well. Somehow, he managed to steady his voice for long enough to say, "It's alright, I got him out before I found you."

It wasn't the best excuse in the world, but it was apparently enough to ease the landlord's panic. He settled into the ground and took a few deep breaths from the respirator. A few hoarse coughs followed, but after his lungs were cleared of the smoke, Mr. Ditkovich was finally taken to the hospital to have his injuries assessed.

At this stage Peter was mad. No, he was beyond mad. Harry could have killed these people, and for what? Some selfish desire for revenge. Peter knew how it felt to lose someone important, and he also was more than aware about the anger that followed, but putting innocent people in peril? That he couldn't comprehend.

The redness that the fire had inflicted upon the sky slowly vanished as Peter moved through New York. Instead, it was suddenly showing bursts of gold on lavender then melting into saffron. It looked like it had been spray-painted by a graffiti artist. Peter wished that he could enjoy the sight, but right now the entire word was just a blur of grey. He needed to find Harry. He needed to stop him from hurting anyone else.

The only problem was that he had no idea where to find him. Peter could only follow his vague instincts, and they lead him towards Harry's penthouse. Spider-Man scaled the building and peaked inside the window. The entire room was cloaked in shadow, and seemingly completely empty as well. It didn't look like Harry had been home for a while.

Peter had the dreadful idea of sneaking inside and double checking the place, but before he could execute such an ill-advised plan, he sensed something moving behind him. It was slicing through the air with incredible speed. The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood on end, and without a moment to spare, he removed his grip from the stone building and dropped. The wind whistled through his mask as he fell, and that was quickly followed by an almighty explosion.

Spider-Man swiftly swung himself onto the tower opposite this structure of penthouses, and saw that the smoke was a distinctive emerald shade. He had only seen one other explosion with such a strange cloud of smoke...one made from The Green Goblin's pumpkin bomb.

His Spider-Sense rumbled through his skull...but this time, Peter had no idea what it could be warning him about. All too soon, the wall he clung to began to shiver. It exploded from within, sending Peter hurtling off it like a flicked insect as shattered bricks were thrown into his body in mid air.

From the wreckage screamed the Goblin atop his glider, its trajectory marking itself directly for Spidey's bruised form.

Before Peter could evade the attack, the Goblin snapped his hand outward and seized his foe by the neck. Peter felt his throat being constricted by Harry's newfound strength. "You lied to me! You were my friend!" The Goblin snarled, banking his glider toward a building, clutching Spidey's back with both hands.

As he sped by the solid brick wall, Harry shoved Peter into it, scraping the wall crawler across the rigid surface. His face was dragged across the brick, shredding parts of his mask and cracking one of its lenses. Cringing and grunting through the pain, Peter managed to push himself backwards and elbow Harry in the face.

Due to Peter's forceful and desperate attack, Harry's focus was shattered and the glider's flight path spun out of control. It veered sharply left, away from the building and was threatening to spiral directly into an oncoming building. Peter fired a webline onto the nose of the vehicle and tugged on it with great effort.

Its front was pulled upward, and the glider shot straight up the face of the structure with inches to spare. The roof quickly zipped by Spidey's eyes, and the Goblin finally managed to come to his senses and launch a vicious kick at his enemy.

Spidey was propelled off the glider and onto the roof, landing with a roll. As he stood, he cried, "Stop this, Harry! I don't want to fight!"

The glider looped around in the distance, and deployed a gatling machine gun from its undercarriage. It began lobbing rounds at the web slinger, whose Spider-Sense helped greatly with dodging said bullets. After he twirled and flipped through the gunfire, Peter shot two weblines simultaneously at the Goblin which both hit their mark on his chest. With a grunt and a spin, Peter pulled with all his might and succeeded in removing Harry from the glider.

The vehicle, without its driver, sputtered anf crashed into an air conditioning unit on the roof as Harry fell face first onto the concrete. Spidey didn't waste any time, promptly spraying the Goblin with layers of webbing to keep him contained. Peter panted heavily, feeling blood drip from his forehead and aches in his chest.

Harry screamed with unbridled rage as he managed to stand and tear straight through the webbing keeping him hostage. "You took my father from me! I won't stop until you're dead!" He snatched a pumpkin bomb from his hip and pegged it at Peter so quickly that he wasn't sure if he had enough time to react.

Time seemed to tick by in slow motion as the explosive flashed and careered closer and closer to Peter's face. He webbed the small orange orb, twisted with its trajectory, and sent it hurtling back towards its owner. Metres away from Harry, the grenade exploded. He was thrown off his feet and onto his back, and Peter stumbled back from the impact.

Ash, soot, dust, and green smoke consumed the rooftop as Peter shook his head and squinted into the fog.

In an instant, the smoke was pierced by an infuriated Goblin, charging forth like a bull. He tackled Spidey clear off the side of the building, and the pair began their lethal tumble down into the streets of New York. Harry pummelled Spidey's face repeatedly whilst the webhead struggled to stay alert enough to prevent the ground from coming up underneath them too quickly.

First, Peter splattered Harry's helmeted face with a spray of webbing, then fired out a line towards the blur of a building that was growing taller and taller as the pair neared the surface of the Earth. However, Harry, still blinded, secured both hands around Peter's wrists as he snarled. "I'm taking you with me, you lying, murdering son of a bitch! You just love getting everyone close to you killed, don't you Pete?! First Ben, then Gwen, my father, now me!"

He squeezed and Peter cried out in pain. Before long, the pressure crushed both of Peter's webshooters, rendering them completely inert. In a last ditch attempt to save them both, Peter lashed out with a headbutt to stave off Harry's unrelenting anger, locked the fingers of his left hand onto Harry's chest, then desperately reached for the wall with his right. There was a violent 'snap' as Peter's fingers adhered to the structure and suddenly halted their downward momentum, dislocating his shoulder.

Peter screamed in response to the sharp stabbing pain that lanced up his shoulder. He felt the fingers on his right hand tremble, peel back, and finally give out.

With the speed of their fall cut down by Peter's last act, the Goblin and Spidey were about to slam onto the roof of a parked car before Harry's glider emitted a burst of thrust. The acceleration was enough to pull the Goblin free of Spidey's grip, and rocketed the villain skyward and out of danger.

Spidey was not as fortunate. He was rammed by gravity directly onto a car, collapsing its roof and shattering every window it had. His back was alight with dozens of nodes of searing pain, but he couldn't wallow in it. Without enough time to even process it all, Peter pushed himself up and out of the wreck as he gritted his teeth.

Blood painted red streaks down the blue of his costume, indicating that the folded and crushed metal had cut him deeply. His eyes lanced into the sky and caught sight of the Goblin on approach.

The traffic was bustling, as usual for New York...and Peter knew that if Harry opened fire with that machine gun or even a pumpkin bomb, people were going to die. Without his right arm or his webshooters, it was easier said than done.

With utmost urgency, Peter bounded over to a manhole cover, flattened his left palm onto its surface, then heaved it upward. In a blinding motion, he twirled, leapt into the air, and let the object go. It arced directly into Harry's glider with a 'clang', instantly embedding itself into the aerial vehicle.

The Goblin was about to come down hard into the stream of oncoming cars. Peter broke into a sprint, trying to ignore all of the pain that beckoned for him to stop and give up. He once again pushed into the air, then struck the glider with a shoulder charge.

The mid-air blow sent Harry and his vehicle arcing over into a mostly empty parking lot as Peter landed in a heap on the sidewalk. He cringed and clutched his dislocated shoulder, watching as the glider smacked the pavement, made sparks as it skidded, then slammed into a dumpster at full-force. Smoke trailed from the thing, and Harry's body fell motionless beside it.

Fear overtook Peter's nerves. He sprinted over to the wreck, trying to fight away his tears. Spidey collapsed at Harry's side and pressed a hand onto his neck. Thankfully, he felt the slow rhythm of his pulse. At that point, it hit him. Harry was going to be tried for not just his crimes...but his father's as well. No one knew who the first Goblin was. The court would pin Norman's countless murders on Harry...and Oscorp's stock would drop. It would kill the company. He didn't want Harry's legacy...and Norman's legacy to be the Goblin. The Goblin destroyed both of them...Peter couldn't let that be it.

As fast as he could with one arm, he removed Harry's flight suit and webbed it to the glider's wreck. Before the emergency responders arrived, Peter tossed the debris into the river and perched himself atop a nearby building.

As the police came upon Harry's unconscious body, a sob tore itself from Peter's throat. His best friend was gone, and he could do nothing but cry in solitude.


	26. Twenty-Six

**_Chapter Twenty-Six: The Devil's Advocate_**

Hell's Kitchen was just like Peter had remembered - tall buildings in an exact grid pattern. Ubiquitous skyscrapers were smudged by the smog-filled sky, no sunlight, no birds. Cars raced between red traffic lights, stubbornly flickering in the grey.

There was misery within those streets. It had soaked into the sidewalk cracks and into the graffitied walls. It was in the stores that were once loaded with designer goods and now housed everything for a dollar. It was in the back alleys where the few restaurants who persisted in trading had their garbage searched several times a day - and not just by the cats. It was etched in every gaunt and dejected face that had given up on life getting any better than mean survival on mean streets. It was places like this that made Peter think that, just maybe, his life wasn't so bad after all...but he hadn't come here to sightsee. He was here to visit someone. A lawyer, to be more specific.

There were very few penthouse apartments in Hell's Kitchen. Primarily because there was practically no market for it. Most people who lived there were too poor to move anywhere else, and anyone that could afford to move and chose to say...well, let's just say they were close to insane. Speaking of which, Peter had finally found the penthouse that he was searching for. It was on the top floor of the tallest building in the street, and the hallway leading to the door was almost completely bereft of light.

Peter knocked on the chestnut-coloured door and the sound echoed through his empty surroundings. One second passed...then two...the three...until finally the door creaked open to reveal a man of rather average height - wearing a pair of dark glasses.

"Parker?" Matt Murdock spoke before Peter even had a chance to open his mouth. Somehow, despite being practically blind from a very young age, Matt always knew exactly who he was talking to and where they were in the room.

It was always an incredible thing to behold, especially for someone like Peter who was intrigued by the entire situation. Despite his lack of vision, Matt's other four senses functioned with superhuman accuracy and sensitivity, giving him abilities far beyond the limits of a sighted person. He also developed a kind of radar sense, similar to echolocation.

"Hey, Matt." Peter replied, trying to hide the pain in his voice, from both the emotional strain and numerous injuries from the previous fight. He'd been crying for almost an hour, and not even Matt's impressive talents could cheer him up. "Can...uh...I come in?"

The dark haired man quickly scooted over, allowing just enough room for Peter shuffle inside. He did so carefully, as if the sharpest movement might bring him unbearable pain...it probably would. He had popped his shoulder back into place not long ago and his back felt like it was one more bad fall away from snapping.

Once he had finally made his way in, he saw that the penthouse was massive, and almost empty apart from the furniture that was scattered across the room. It looked like Matt was barely ever home because everything was practically spotless as well.

"How did everything go with Stilt-Man?" Matt suddenly asked as he shut the door behind him.

Peter, for a brief moment, was dragged out of his own trauma for long enough to stare back at Matt curiously. "How'd you know about that?"

"I heard it." Matt replied simply.

"You heard it?" Peter repeated incredulously. "From all the way over here?"

"Yeah. Had that bowl of popcorn too."

It took a moment for Peter to completely understand what Matt was referring to. Then, he remembered the conversation he'd had with Stilt-Man about Daredevil's whereabouts. Peter had said he was probably listening to the whole thing and eating popcorn...but he didn't actually think that Matt was actually doing that.

"Dude...you knew I was fighting him. Why didn't you come help?" Peter questioned. He tried to straighten his posture but a sharp pain jolted up his spine that had him hunching back down again.

"Peter. It was Stilt-Man. Didn't think you needed it." Matt shrugged. "Also, I was enjoying my popcorn. Speaking of Stilt-Man, didn't you break his legs?"

"That wasn't me!" Peter responded much too quickly. "It was Protonslaught."

"Well, either way you're going to need a lawyer if he decides to sue."

"He was stealing...I don't think he'll have a very good case. That's if he's even stupid enough to try." Peter sighed and placed a hand on his previously dislocated shoulder. Even now that it was back in place, it still hurt. "I am here for a lawyer though."

"Would this have anything to do with your current condition?" Matt asked, gesturing towards Peter as if to reiterate his question.

"What do you mean?" Peter tried not to hiss at the pounding headache swirling in his skull. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You've got multiple lacerations, a sprained back, and until recently, your shoulder was dislocated. I understand that our profession sometimes leads to...physical hardship, so you don't need to lie to me." Matt strolled passed Peter with much more grace than he ever had, despite his blindness, then slumped into his massive grey couch. "Besides, I'm going to need to know this if you want me to represent you in court."

"Not me." Peter interrupted. "A friend of mine."

"Okay..." Matt's voice trailed off sceptically, but he still decided to indulge his friend for old time's sake. "Who's this friend and what did he do?"

"It's Harry Osborn...he's the new Green Goblin."

Peter could tell that Matt was surprised by this news. His shoulders tensed and his jaw struggled not to drop. "You want me to represent and defend...a criminal? One who wasn't wrongly accused?"

"Well, yeah..."

"May I ask why?" It was abundantly clear that Matt was becoming more uncertain by the second, but at the very least he was willing to listen to any explanation that Peter had to offer.

"He's my best friend." Peter mumbled, fully aware that this wasn't the best way to start pleading his case. "His dad was exposed to some kind of substance that affected his brain chemistry...caused an imbalance that resulted in insanity. I'm ninety-nine percent sure Harry's taken the same substance...though, truth be told, he was already starting to lose it after his dad died."

"What has he done? And be comprehensive."

"Uh...attempted murder and property damage I guess."

Matt ran a hand down in face. "Listen Peter, Harry Osborn is one of the richest men in New York. He would have his pockets lined with enough lawyers to win this case twenty times over."

"I don't trust anyone else, Matt. And...I need it done a particular way." Peter started. He exhaled then clarified, "No one can know that he was the Goblin. He wasn't himself. I can't let people attribute what the Goblin did to Harry."

"...Peter, you're asking me to lie."

Peter tried to join Matt on the couch, but even bending over to sit made his entire body flare with pain. He hissed, rubbing his back in a futile attempt to dull the ache before finally replying, "Yeah. I am, but not without a good cause. Harry never would have done those things if he was in his right mind."

"Are you sure about that? That could be the denial talking."

"No, I'm sure." Peter insisted. "Please, Matt. This is partly my own fault for not telling him about Spider-Man sooner. I should have trusted him with it...but I didn't, and now he's lost himself. Harry doesn't belong in prison. He needs professional help."

Matt exhaled sharply and slumped further into the couch. This was a moral dilemma that even he didn't know the solution to. All he could do was trust Peter's judgement and hope that he wasn't making a terrible mistake. "Was there anything on Harry that could be used as evidence?"

"No, I threw his glider and flight suit in the river."

Matt sighed...heavily. "The river? I'm not even going to tell you how bad of an idea that was."

"Look, I was emotionally compromised. I'm surprised I managed to even think of that."

"Well, it's better than nothing." Matt finally surrendered. "Fine. I'll get your friend the help he needs, and I'll make sure no one pins this whole Green Goblin fiasco on him either."

The relief that Peter felt upon hearing these words was indescribable...but, unfortunately, he didn't have much time to savour it. His friends, including Aunt May, were still awaiting his return and he couldn't take any more detours. Not even to the hospital. "Thanks. I really appreciate it, Matt. Let me know if you need any more info."

"Leaving already?"

"I kind of left a few people in Clint's care, and I don't really want to dawdle." Peter responded, earning an immediate scowl from Matt. He had never gotten along with Clint, but that spiralled out of control after they both gained mutual affections for Black Widow.

"Is he still with Nat?" Matt asked lowly.

"Nah, they're just friends now. I don't think they've been together for a while now."

"Good. She deserves better."

Peter grimaced. This wasn't really the conversation that he had signed up for. He had enough relationship problems in his own life without prying into others. So, he decided not to comment on Matt's previous statement as he left - dragging his feet slowly and trying not to move his back into any position besides its current hunch.

This injury, obviously, made travelling back to Queens an almost impossible task. He couldn't swing, he could barely even walk, and he had no money for bus fare. Luckily, he had somehow managed to hitch a ride with Johnny Storm as he headed back from a promotional deal for sunscreen of all things.

They said nothing the entire trip. Even Johnny, who was cocky and self-absorbed at the best of times, could tell that Peter was going through something rough. He simply picked him up and dropped him off in mostly silence, which was quite a rarity for him.

The Asiatic hotel loomed over Peter, and made him feel even smaller than usual. He didn't know how he was going to explain his red eyes to everyone, or the myriad of injuries scattered around his body.

Lies weren't necessary for the first person that he encountered though. Clint was sitting on the stairs leading to the upper section of rooms; the bodies of strangers littered around him like loose trash. "What took you so long? I've been waiting here for hours!"

"Sorry, I had to fight my best friend. I know that must be an inconvenience for you." Peter but back bitterly. "Who are all these people?"

"Assassins. Osborn must have sent them to find you."

Peter analysed the figures again. Some of them were unconscious, others were in so much pain that they could do little more than focus on their own breathing, and every single one of them had an arrow pierced through their limbs. "Did you do this?"

"No. I called Thor, and he came all the way from Asgard to stop them, then I went around and poked arrows in their bodies to make it look like I did it." Clint scoffed sarcastically. "What do you think?"

"Alright, I get it. Sorry."

Clint twirled an arrow around his fingers, eyes narrowing at Peter and his gore-riddled face. "How you going to explain that mug to your friends?"

"We're going to say that I was hit by a car."

"More like a truck." Clint quipped. "Also, why exactly aren't you in hospital if you got run over?"

Peter chewed on his bottom lip. He hadn't thought that far ahead. His mind had been so jumbled that it couldn't comprehend anything except his own stress. "I don't know...say that I was in hospital but got released because it wasn't serious."

"Looks pretty serious to me, mate. At least go wash the blood off your face or something. No hospital's going to let you walk out without cleaning your wounds." Clint shook his head. He couldn't believe that Peter had gotten away with his secret identity for so long, especially if this was an example of his usual excuses. "I don't understand why you're going to such lengths to lie to these people."

"So you're not going to cover for me?"

"I will cover for you when you've made an effort to make it believable. Get a sling for your arm while you're at it. It looks like it's about to fall off."


	27. Twenty-Seven

**_Chapter Twenty-Seven: Houston, Peter Has So Many Problems_**

"Goodness gracious! Peter, are you alright?" Aunt May cried as she hurried over to Peter, who had his arm in a sling and a couple band-aids on his face.

"I-I'm fine, Aunt May."

Hawkeye crossed his arms and shook his head. "Cyclists. They think they live above the law. Went roaring through the crossing and knocked Peter down like he was a bowling pin."

MJ furrowed her brow as she stood from the couch, where Eddie was seated. "A bike hit him?..."

"Yeah. And he dislocated his arm when he landed on it weird."

With a laugh, the redhead continued, "Is that your professional terminology? 'He landed on it weird'?"

Clint chuckled and raised a palm to the woman. "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a scarf that I need to finish knitting. You're welcome, by the way." With that, he pulled the door open and slammed it harshly.

As Peter comforted May, he spied Annabelle peering through the blinds. She seemed to be watching the mercenaries that Hawkeye incapacitated as they writhed around on the ground in pain. "Hey, that dude has an arrow sticking out of his butt."

Eddie, quite possibly eager to work that into a headline, bolted up and dashed over to the window. "Holy cow...there's like thirty armed guys out cold in the street. I guess that really was Hawkeye."

"Are you certain that you're alright, Peter?" Aunt May asked softly.

"Y-Yeah. I'm sure."

At this moment, May's expression suddenly became serious. "Peter Benjamin Parker. You should know better than to lie to your dear aunt."

In the corner of his eye as he sheepishly grinned at May, he could see MJ smirking amidst his misfortune.

Peter sighed. He really didn't want to tell her that his apartment got blown up and that he had a single box of belongings left that wasn't reduced to ash...but, alas, he was never lucky enough to get his way. "Uh...my apartment got blown up."

May's face paled, and MJ's mischievous smile instantly faded.

"Ha! That one took an arrow to the knee! Get it?!" Annabelle hollered, snorting with laughter. "Come on, you've played Elder Scrolls before. Everyone has."

Eddie, still at the window taking photos with his phone, ignored her.

"No way... Do you want to talk about what happened?" MJ mused; her way of slyly asking if it was something Peter could talk about in front of his aunt.

He shut his eyes for a second. "They caught the Goblin guy...but before they did, he found out where I lived and tried to get rid of me. Thanks to Agent Barton, I was away helping with the investigation."

"Peter...that's absolutely dreadful. I'm so sorry." May laid a hand onto Peter's cheek. Quite promptly, she retracted it and shifted pace. "Now, it doesn't do to dwell on misfortune, so we'll pack your things and move them into my place."

"M-May, I can't do that."

"Don't be silly. I've taken care of you for eighteen years; I'm not about to stop now. You need a place to stay."

She barely had enough money for herself. Peter knew this, even though May always did her best to keep it from him. If he moved back in with her, he could help with some things...but not everything. Expenses would go up just with him being there, let alone eating more food and what not. With Peter living with her, they'd be broke in a month.

Aunt May's eyes darted to the ground as she sombrely continued. "I know that you've come to enjoy your independence and privacy..."

"That's not it, Aunt May. You can't afford it, and neither can I. I don't make enough money to cover my costs...and you'll never admit it to anyone, not even yourself, but it's just not realistic. You need to look after yourself for once. For me." Peter pleaded.

May's eyes began to shimmer in light of her growing sense of helplessness, but it seemed that help wasn't too far away.

"Miss Parker?" Annabelle called as she slowly approached. "I haven't had a roommate for a while. I wouldn't mind having Peter stay with me for a while."

A great pain began to manifest in the pit of Peter's stomach. He looked to MJ and May, and noticed as they exchanged glances with each other. With that gesture, Peter knew exactly what they were going to do.

"Belle...that's so sweet." MJ chimed.

"H-Hey, I think that maybe I could—" Peter started.

May brutally interrupted Peter. "Isn't that wonderful, Peter? You can stay with Annabelle."

"L-Look, I can't— I mean, she has bills to p-pay and—"

"I own my apartment and I'm pretty stingy with water and electricity already. We'll just have to worry about food."

"Annabelle, you are such a kind young lady. Are you sure it wouldn't be any trouble?"

With a smile aimed directly at Peter, Annabelle answered, "Of course not. I mean it's New York; weirdos always blow things up here. Besides, we can go to college together too."

That last sentence earned another exchange of glances from MJ and May, leaving Peter in absolute terror. He knew that to argue any further would come across as rude, and that was the last thing he wanted after such a generous offer. Perhaps his fear was unwarranted, but it was difficult to imagine seeing his crush every single day and not embarrassing himself. It was almost guaranteed that he would break something or get her apartment destroyed...then she'd hate him forever. He just knew it.

"Well, that's settled." MJ grinned mischievously at Peter but he could barely lift his eyes from the floor anymore. "Take care of him for us, yeah?"

Now, Peter would love to pretend like he finally spoke up against his loving aunt and overzealous ex, but instead he somehow found himself standing in the middle of Annabelle's apartment with his tiny bag of belongings clutched tightly in his right hand.

The entire place was blindingly bright. The walls were painted a bright neon green, and that colour seemed to splash across the oaken floor as well; as if the painter had been attacked by a dozen flies and started swatting them with the paintbrush. Each door had terrible drawings etched onto them in permanent marker, and the ceiling was spotted with glow-in-the-dark stars; similar to the ones Peter had in his bedroom when he was five.

The place was relatively neat in comparison to Peter's old flat, but it was by no means organised. Where Peter usually had clothes sprawled across the floor and noodle cups piled in his kitchen, Annabelle instead had distinct corners full of relatively useless items all grouped together. For example, in one of these clutters she had a rubber chicken, a plastic apple, and a dog bed despite the fact that she clearly didn't have a pet.

Strangest of all was that there were no family photographs or college memories framed in the living room, instead it was filled with obscure art and posters...and by 'obscure art' he meant a small tree wearing shoes and a portrait of a goat eating mountains of cheese.

In short, the apartment reflected Annabelle's strangeness perfectly.

"Welcome home, Pete." Belle chimed happily, sauntering through the room as if it were the most ordinary place in existence and opening a door right next to a statue made entirely out of energy drink cans. "This is your room. It's kinda just been for random junk until now so I'm glad it's going to good use."

Peter, who had been infatuated with the interior decorating until this point, managed an awkward yet completely sincere smile as he followed her into his new room. "I can't thank you enough for letting me stay here... I'll be out of your hair as soon as I save up enough for a new place."

"There's no rush." Annabelle replied in that sweet, somewhat deep voice. "You can stay as long as you want. I'm happy to have the company."

Desperately trying to hide his flustered expression, Peter shuffled into the room with his gaze solely on his own battered shoes. "Thanks..."

"You must be hungry, yeah? I'll go make us a snack."

As soon as Annabelle left, Peter finally felt his lungs expand and accept the air he was desperately trying to supply to them. It was difficult to accept that he was now living with his crush, but more so that he was unable to contribute anything to the partnership. It made him feel like a disgusting leech; he had nothing to give her in return...no money, and certainly no belongings.

Peter sighed as he tried to ignore the guilt welling in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he opted for unpacking his small batch of belongings...but not before inspecting his new room. It was full of shelves and cabinets - all sporting statues and action figures from her favourite shows, comics, and movies. Peter was particularly excited about the Star Trek figures and a fairly impressive model of the Delorean from Back to the Future.

This collection wasn't without its oddities though, as he had come to expect from anything Annabelle owned. She also had a large collection of gore-riddled dolls that sported the title 'Living Dead Dolls' on their coffin-shaped boxes. These were right next to another section full of Mr Potato Head's. No, not just the Toy Story version. It was a whole line of varying styles of that toy...and if this wasn't enough she also had a statue of Jesus giving whoever entered the room a thumbs up.

If it was possible, Peter suddenly felt even more awe-struck by Annabelle than ever before.

It took exactly two minutes for Peter to find a place for his very small bag of items (and to also debate how he was going to wash his Spider-Man costume without Annabelle catching him), and not too long afterwards Annabelle had entered with two bowls. She handed one to Peter with a grin. "Here. Eat up."

Now, the last thing Peter wanted to do was seem ungrateful, but the sight in front of him threw him into a state of severe confusion. "Uh, thanks...but what is this?"

"Apples and cheese." Annabelle replied as if her words weren't absolutely crazy to most sane people.

"And...why are those two things in a bowl together?"

Instead of answering his enquiry verbally, Belle selected a chopped piece of apple and a small slice of cheese. She held them together between her index finger and thumb...then popped it in her mouth in one smooth motion. "You've never had this before?"

"Can't say I have..."

Annabelle tilted her head to the side and murmured, "Huh. That's weird. Well, it's really good."

Though relatively sceptical about this dish, Peter didn't want to be rude (and he hadn't eaten in far too long), so he copied her motions and took a bite of the strange snack.

Immediately, Peter's tastebuds rejected it. The combination of something as sweet as an apple, and as savoury as cheese, simply didn't mesh well in his mind. It was hard to hide the expression that overwhelmed his face...it looked as if he had swallowed a whole lemon. Still, trying not to embarrass himself, Peter managed a wonky smile to hide his watering eyes. "Oh...yeah...that's...that's really something."

Oblivious as ever, Annabelle nodded. "I know, right?"

Succeeding in swallowing the sinful food, Peter places the bowl on the bed behind him. "Um...so, you own this place?"

"Yep. So you don't need to stress about rent."

Peter frowned. Sure, he was pleased at the idea of not paying for accommodation, but he also felt terrible about it. Peter had never felt comfortable depending on others. He wanted to earn everything in his own way. "There has to be something I can help with...maybe food?"

"Nah, I got it covered." Annabelle insisted. "But there is something you can do."

Peter nodded eagerly. "Name it."

"Any money you get, I want you to give it to your aunt. You said she was struggling, right?"

In that instant Peter's heart twisted in his chest; struggling against the chords that kept it hanging there. Aunt May was on the verge of losing her place, and though she tried to hide it, he'd noticed the vast amount of weight that she had lost - and she had always been quite small to begin with. Peter has always wanted to help...but she never accepted it. She knew that Peter had been struggling even worse than she was, as hard as that may have been to imagine. Perhaps, now that he wasn't paying rent, he could fill her cupboards with food while she was at the shelter or something...

At the possibility of finally being able to help the woman that had raised him, Peter felt like he might cry. Somehow, he held most of it in and wiped any stray tears onto his sleeve. He was speechless. He already knew that he liked Annabelle a lot, but after such a thoughtful suggestion, he could sense his affections reaching new heights. He wished that he could do more; give her the world...or at least a replica of it to put on her shelf. All Peter could give her though was a small "thank you."

Though it wasn't much, it was the most genuine thing that he could ever remember saying.


	28. Twenty-Eight

**_Chapter Twenty-Eight: Robots In Disguise_**

For Peter, getting settled in his new home was relatively easy...primarily because he was rarely there to begin with. He had two jobs to juggle, after all, and that took up enough of his time without adding college to the mix. Strangely enough, Annabelle was barely at home either - yet the fridge was always fully stocked and sometimes he'd find a weird new art project on the kitchen table.

Today, however, Peter was in the middle of a horrendously overdue assignment when Annabelle peered into his room. She held a strawberry roll-up in one hand and two tickets in the other. Apparently, between his best friend going psycho and his home being destroyed, he had completely forgotten about the ARGENT Defence Hardware Presentation; a convention that Annabelle had given him tickets for a few weeks ago, and that he had been overwhelmingly excited for until his life fell apart...again.

Though Peter didn't feel completely motivated to do anything but sit in his room, he simply couldn't refuse an opportunity to hang out with Annabelle. Especially not if it had anything to do with science.

When they arrived the entire building was packed with new inventions and hardware. Peter could make sense of every single device with merely a glance...but Annabelle didn't seem to fully grasp what she was looking at.

For example, Annabelle was currently squinting at a strange contraption inside of a cylindrical glass case before her. It appeared to be some kind of high-tech harness with all sorts of cables running along its length.

"Hey, what the hell is this?" She called as she slapped the back of her hand against Peter's shoulder.

The off-duty Amazing Spider-Man (not currently Spider-Man but still 100% Amazing), lit up like a lightbulb. "Oh cool, yeah that's the...uh..." He then started furiously clicking to himself, trying to recall the name of the product on display. "I think it's called the X-S or something, as in Extreme Situation."

"Extreme starts with 'E', stupid people. What is this, the nineties? So what does it do?"

Peter, glad that someone was actually interested, continued, "It's a telepresence robot that's used to interact with dangerous objects or environments from the safety of a lab or control centre."

He approached the case and pointed at the various components as he spoke, "You see these things all over the arms and legs? They're motion tracking nodes, filled with gyros and sensors that track movement. The goggles are built from a modified Oculus Rift, so it too has motion control. All of this takes the input and sends it to the X-S unit."

"It doesn't look like a robot, I thought you said it was a robot." Annabelle prodded in confusion.

Peter cocked his head and sighed. He pointed to the other case on Annabelle's right that was directly next to the first one, which contained, who could've guessed it, a robot.

"Oh." Annabelle added.

"Yeah...so when you wear that stuff over there, this robot will copy whatever you do." Peter explained, trying very carefully to limit his use of jargon seeing as Annabelle clearly had no idea what he said that last time.

"Why would you need a copycat robot?"

"Well, the applications are pretty broad. This kind of technology is already being used in explosive ordnance disposal; the bomb squad can defuse a device without risking their own lives that way. In terms of scientific research, it's much safer to send a robot to an active volcano to take geological samples than it would be a human, and same goes for space exploration. However, it's argued that your standard robotic drones or rovers could achieve the same results and carry a greater array of built-in scientific equipment. I feel like the portability of human skills is probably its best selling point, though. You don't need to fly an engineer down to a remote construction site to perform sensitive repairs when you can strap the motion trackers on him and have him do it from the other side of the planet."

And just like that, ladies and gentlemen, Peter Parker had once again lost Annabelle Lee. It was far too difficult for him to not use the otherwise useless science vocabulary he had built up. She took a bite of her chocolate bar then asked, with a mouthful of it still getting grinded down, "What if you put the motion stuff on the robot?"

"What?"

"It would be this crazy endless loop. Because the robot is meant to do what the harness thing does but it's wearing it. Would it go insane and want to kill itself like those guys in Robocop 2?"

"It would...just do nothing."

"Well that's mega boring." Annabelle's eyes lanced away from the X-S unit and settled on something in the distance, on the other end of the convention floor. "Cool, what's that?"

Without a care in the world, Annabelle drifted off into the crowded space, leaving Peter to try to wade through the sea of people.

Most of the people at this event were rich business dudes, military sponsors, and members of the press. There weren't a lot of normal people around, but the fact that there were any at all spoke volumes to Peter of the company's new direction. ARGENT had always been very traditional in its management and didn't really prioritise connecting with the public until now.

By the time Peter found Annabelle, she was gawking at a set of robotic products on a wide display stage. They were organised in pairs; one humanoid in shape, and the other...well, it was a motorbike. Each pair was painted in different colours to denote various potential customers such as the police, army, and S.H.I.E.LD.

"Peter, is that a robot programmed to ride motorbikes? That's amazing." Annabelle beamed.

Peter scratched the back of his head as he prepared to let her down easy. "Well, it's even better than that. It's a robot that can turn into a motorbike that a human can ride."

Nodding, Annabelle seemed to be slightly disappointed at how she wasn't going to see robots pedal down the street in bicycles any time soon, but was intrigued nonetheless. "Woah. It's a Transformer?"

"Yeah. Basically. It's designed to be a partner for cops. I heard they're going to start mass-production really soon...and these must be the final models. They've added some purely aesthetic shaping to the casings, maybe trying to make it all look a bit nicer." Peter's voice declined into a mutter as he started getting into the nerdy stuff. "Jo Kimble's never been one to overdesign mechanical systems. I reckon they had an artist rework some of the outer design so it could look more appealing for investors."

"Cool." Annabelle said, despite not having really listened to the back half of that.

Peter looked to the left end of the stage and saw a young woman sitting behind a desk. She had her feet up on the table and was face first in a novel. Peter instantly recognised her as Jo Kimble, mechanical engineer at ARGENT and project director of the COBRA units. She was one of those people with a severe case of 'resting bitch face'. "Speaking of Jo Kimble...I think that's her right there."

Annabelle slinked over to Peter's side and nibbled more of her chocolate. "She looks a little scary...like she'd rather be at home listening to satanic death metal."

"She's never really done any press. I mean...she did do a video interview for the Bugle but it didn't go that well."

Peter reached into his bag and removed a copy of an old peer-reviewed journal, more specifically 'Contemporary Mechanical Technologies' volume 23, issue 6. It contained one of Jo's first published works, an article called 'Dynamic Framing In Robotics: Prototype Test Findings'. With this in hand, Peter approached the desk and said rather terribly, "H-Hi. How...How's it going?"

Jo's eyes, which revealed the pitch black colour of her dead soul, slowly inched up from her book and locked onto Peter's.

"If it isn't too much trouble...I was wondering if you could sign this for me."

With the speed of a venomous snake, Jo snatched the journal from Peter's hand and glanced at the cover. "Huh." She said to herself.

Jo reached inside her jacket and pulled out a pen. "You do this often?" She asked, voice as dead as roadkill. She quite possibly thought that Peter was a loser for getting someone to sign their research article like they were a rockstar.

"Y-Yeah. I've got Otto Octavius' original thesis signed by him. He's...well, he was nice until he went crazy." Peter started. "Your article was really cool too. I mean before this was published, the concept of flexible skeletal structures hadn't gained much popularity in the field. I've been following the development of the dynamic framing ever since I read this."

Jo quickly scribbled her signature across the cover of the journal and said, "Didn't realise it's been seven years since I wrote this. The 'dynamic framing prototype' I wrote about was something I put together in my garage."

"Woah...really? Now you have a whole line of robotics that relies on it as a key system. That's pretty awesome." Peter chuckled like a dork. "I have a question, actually. Why did you choose to make the COBRA's patrol mode humanoid?"

Jo handed the journal back to Peter and cocked her head.

"That's a...good question. We did a lot of deliberation on what it's patrol mode should be. At first, it was possibly going to be a reconfiguration of the pursuit mode, so it was going to be on wheels. No arms, no legs, no head. But eventually, we realised that they needed to be able to access all infrastructure that human officers could. They needed to be able to use stairs, open doors, enter houses, that kind of stuff. So it was only practical; we live in cities built for humans. Also, if they could use human weapons, it would cut costs significantly; we opted for hands so they can use any firearms given to them, and we wouldn't need to integrate weaponry."

Peter smiled and nodded. "That makes so much sense. Thanks."

Annabelle had finished her chocolate bar, so she started to get a little restless. "Can I sit on the motorbike?" She blurted.

Peter sighed heavily as he clutched the journal to his chest. Jo crossed her arms and gave Annabelle a once over. She turned to Peter. "She your girlfriend?"

"Yes. I-I mean, no! No! N-No. But she's my friend...and roommate...and a girl." Peter stammered.

Jo blinked rapidly at Annabelle and finally answered. "Yeah. Sure. I guess."

Annabelle's eyes widened. "Oh my god, thank you so much! You're the best!"

She bolted onto the stage, leaving a bewildered Peter behind in shock. Before long, he joined Annabelle as she straddled the COBRA that was in the motorcycle mode and urged Peter to take a photo of her using her phone. Next minute, it had become her new display picture on Facebook.

Peter had almost forgotten about the last month of his life until he spied a small television in the back corner of the room. It was muted, but the image that appeared on the screen was enough to fill him with so much guilt that he almost felt sick.

A picture of Harry Osborn had been placed next to his lawyer, Matt Murdock, who was being interviewed about the outcome of yesterday's trial. Peter had watched it from afar that day, but couldn't bare to actually enter the courtroom. Matt had managed to convince the jury that Harry was only a pawn that The Green Goblin had used - and that his weakened mental state prevented him from realising the dangers that the goblin presented. Harry was no longer suspected of being the villain, but was admitted into a mental health facility for an undisclosed amount of time.

Any joy that Peter had felt immediately vanished. He had no right going to science conventions with Annabelle when his childhood friend was locked in a psych ward... He had no right to be doing anything at all. The fact that he had forgotten about Harry, for even a second, tore at his soul like a sharp blade. Nothing could console him after that. Not even Annabelle's hand being placed upon his shoulder.


	29. Twenty-Nine

**_Chapter Twenty-Nine: Don't Drink and Swing, Kids_**

After being reminded of his best friend's fate, Peter became desperate to clear his mind of the troubles that weighed him down. Usually that would entail a tub of ice-cream and a Mythbusters marathon, but that idea was briskly tossed aside when Annabelle noticed his sullen mood and insisted that they go to a pub.

Peter rarely drank. In fact, he could count on one hand the amount of times that he'd actually gone inside of a pub. It had simply never interested him...and no one wanted to see a wigged-out Spider-Man falling off his webs. Today, however, Peter would have done anything to silence his own guilt.

The place Annabelle had dragged him to was drab and tasteless. Dim bulbs behind red-tasseled lamp shades barely illuminated each of a dozen maroon vinyl booths, which marched along one wall towards the murky front windows. Chipped tables anchored the booths in place. Opposite this was a long, scarred wooden bar with uncomfortable-looking stools. Behind which, sitting on glass shelves in front of a cloudy mirror, were endless rows of bottles, each looking as forlorn as the folks for whom they waited.

Peter was suddenly consumed by the strong odors of liquor and tobacco smoke, along with the weaker scents of cleaning chemicals and vomit. He then spotted a scrawny bartender with droopy eyelids picking his teeth and chatting quietly with a woman seated at the bar.

"What's your poison?" Annabelle asked, readying her bright pink credit card. Peter had no idea where she had managed to find a pink credit card, but he liked to imagine that she had somehow spray painted the whole thing.

"Uhh... I don't really know." Peter admitted sheepishly. Due to his previously modest consumption of alcohol, he wasn't particularly knowledgeable on all the different beverages available at a bar. He did, however, recall a fond memory of his Uncle Ben - who would allow Peter one single sip of beer every Christmas from the age of thirteen. "Beer, I suppose. I don't really care what brand it is."

"Ew...okay." Annabelle shivered, obviously not keen on his choice. "I'll get the drinks while you find us a booth."

Mentally preparing himself for the effect this night was going to have on his mind, Peter opted for a booth right near the door (so that if he embarrassed himself, he could swiftly escape without drawing too much attention). With that in mind, Peter had almost started reconsidering this whole venture until Annabelle returned with two pints of beer and two colourful cocktails. She managed to place them all on the table without spilling a single drop.

"I buy the rounds in sets of two, hope you don't mind." Annabelle answered before Peter even got the chance to ask. "It means I won't have to keep getting up to get another drink every few minutes...and two's an even number. I like even numbers."

"Yeah, all good." Peter replied, though he wasn't entirely thrilled at the idea of drinking double his usual limit. "Won't the second one get warm though?"

"That's why you gotta drink it fast." Annabelle stated simply, and with a playful wink, she picked up her Midori Splice and downed half of it in less than five seconds.

Peter tried to mimic Belle's large gulp of alcohol, but the beer coated his throat in a way that he simply wasn't used to. He gagged on the bitter beverage and shivered as he placed it back down.

"So...your best friend's crazy, huh?"

Ouch. Peter didn't exactly know what he had expected, but this certainly wasn't how he pictured this conversation starting. Annabelle had always been oblivious to her own bluntness, but come on, comforting people had never been her strong suit. We don't need an 'Et Tu, Brute' reminder, do we? No. We don't...and if you do then you'd better backtrack a few chapters.

"Uhh..." Peter was speechless. On one hand he wanted to berate her for speaking about Harry so facetiously, but on the other hand...she was right. There was a third hand popping into this scenario as well, and this one wanted to ask her how she could be so clueless to her own harsh words, but the fourth hand clawing out of Peter's chest reminded him that he really really REALLY liked her. Now, being part spider, Peter had four more hands to count through...but that would be way too much effort for the poor narrator. So, let's just say that he listened to his fourth hand. The one that was staring at the two pigtails tied ontop of her head. "Well, he's at a mental hospital...so I'm like ninety-nine percent sure."

Annabelle leant in and whispered to Peter, "That's pretty...insane, don't you think?" She reeled back and stared at Peter expectantly, as if she had just said the funniest thing ever said by anybody. Seconds passed, and she couldn't contain herself any longer. Hyena-esque cackling permeated the air, soon followed by snorted laughter.

Peter blinked rapidly, then glanced around to make sure no one was looking at them.

Annabelle swallowed and finally managed to calm herself down...slightly. "Sorry." She said through some more inappropriate laughter. Peter was pretty sure that she was apologising for the laughing, not the insensitive comment but alas; Spider-Man was a crusader against crime, not slightly hurt feelings.

"You want a peanut?" She asked abruptly.

Peter's ears twitched. "Peanuts? This place has peanuts?"

"No." Annabelle answered sweetly. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and retrieved a zip lock bag full of peanuts. "They're covered in chicken salt."

Going anywhere with Annabelle seemed akin to being subjected to a volley of machine gun fire - it was constantly one thing after another, and always at random.

"Okay, fine. More for me." She dismissed. The girl popped open the bag, raised it, then poured all of its contents directly into her mouth.

Peter, quite understandably a little confused, blinked rapidly and took a very, very, very long swig of his beverage. In no time at all he had finished both beers, and Annabelle had brought him two more. This continued on for at least four hours. Annabelle would say something weird (which, if Peter wasn't horribly depressed over Harry's situation, he definitely would have found adorable), then Peter would drink to avoid even thinking about a response.

Obviously, it wasn't long until Peter started feeling the affect of the alcohol. His head was filled with fog and his sorrow drowned in it.

Annabelle was in a similar position. She downed way too many cocktails, then as they left the pub, she stumbled through the streets - occasionally stretching up to touch a star in the black ice cap of a sky, shaking her hand and blowing on her fingers when it burnt her.

Peter was laughing now...though he wasn't entirely sure why. It didn't matter either. He hadn't felt so carefree in years.

"Got 'nymore of those pean...uts?" Peter slurred through his own giggles as they tripped back into the apartment.

"You didn' wan' them." Annabelle retorted with an air of amusement.

"I didn' say that." Peter huffed. "You ate them before I could reply."

Annabelle shrugged, almost knocking over one of the weird artworks near the door. "Gotta be fastah if you wan' these nuts."

There was silence...and then, like two immature hyenas, they both fell into hysterical laughter. Finally, with the alcohol seizing any negative thoughts, Peter could fully appreciate Belle's quirky cackling. She snorted, wheezed, and turned so red in the face that she was starting to look like a lobster. Albeit, a very cute lobster with pigtails and slightly crooked bottom teeth. Wait, lobsters didn't have teeth...ignore that last part.

The main point was that he could enjoy her strangeness again whole-heartedly...and that was like seeing the moon again on an otherwise pitch dark night.

His glances mustn't have gone unnoticed by Belle, because her laughs slowly died and she was soon tilting her head curiously at the drunken mess that was Peter Benjamin Parker.

"Do...I have somethin' wrong with me face?" Annabelle asked almost inaudibly. Peter had been staring for a while...even during their outbursts of laughter. Actually, now that she thought about it, he was always finding ways to glance at her from across the room.

Peter flushed a vibrant pink and stuttered, "N-No! Of course not...you have a v-very nice face...I mean, wai', no. No' in a weird way. You have a face, but there's nothin' wrong with it."

Finally, after what felt like centuries (or twenty-nine chapters of an extremely tedious fanfiction), realisation struck Annabelle like a clock at midnight. Ironically enough, with all that alcohol in her system, her mind had never been so clear. Peter was acting much like she had in 9th grade; when she had that crush on her ridiculously attractive friend, Amanda Nguyen.

With this in mind, Annabelle subtly analysed Peter's expression. He looked so nervous that he could rival a bull rider seconds before being bucked off. He always seemed to look that way when he was near her, and quite honestly, Belle felt like an absolute dimwit for not noticing it sooner.

The only question that remained now was whether Annabelle was interested in the stuttering science major. The answer was not immediately clear. You see, Annabelle had a type. This type involved heavily tattooed men or women with loose buns and an attitude problem...but, despite being painfully distant from her usual catch, Peter had somehow grabbed her attention.

Never being a woman to consider her options or delay an action, Annabelle slipped closer to Peter and pressed her lips against his so fast that the blushing boy almost fell backwards in shock.

At first, Peter thought he might be dreaming...but her touch was far too real. She was like a living flame and with every passing second she consumed him and rendered him to ash. Something melted inside of his chest that hurt in an exquisite way. All of his longings and the secrets that slept deep within him came awake. Everything was transformed and enchanted, everything made sense.

When Annabelle finally broke the kiss, they were still close enough that she could feel the hurried beat of Peter's heart. She could sense his indecision in every word that he didn't say and every move that he didn't make. He was tense with uncertainty, quivering with irresolution.

The world was all heat and electricity now in Peter's eyes, thick with tension that was only one spark away from exploding around him. He was balancing on a precipice, which wasn't easy to do whilst drunk. Then, discarding the little voice inside of his head that screamed at him to run away, Peter leaned forward and captured Annabelle's lips once more.

Time skipped by too quickly for Peter to comprehend after that. One second he was in the hallway with a whispered kiss tingling against his mouth, and the next he was in Annabelle's bedroom tugging at fabric and trying not to trip over on his way. The room was spinning, but that hardly mattered with Annabelle in his arms.

The back of Peter's legs hit a mattress, and he fell onto it with Belle still securely wrapped in his embrace.

The weight of her body on top of his was extraordinary. Peter felt her press against him, and he inhaled her scent of newly baked croissants and apple pie. It was the most delicious smell he could ever imagine. Her lips tasted like peanut butter, and Peter realised that he'd never truly be able to quench the desire to kiss them again.

Annabelle's hands were everywhere, and it didn't seem to matter that her mouth was already on top of his...he wanted her to be closer. So close that they defied the atoms that made them.

Consumed by these thoughts, Peter forgot about everything else; he forgot about the open window shining a bright beam of moonlight onto the floor, and more importantly, he forgot about the Spider-Man costume hiding beneath his civilian attire...that is, until Annabelle unbuttoned his shirt and drew a sharp inhale of air.

Peter's eyes snapped open, and despite the fruitlessness of the gesture, he yanked his shirt closed again.

"Y-You're..." Annabelle started, but the shock had stolen her voice away. She could do nothing but stare at the panicked boy and allow her mind time to process what she had just seen.

"N-No...I..." Peter stuttered. His skull was pounding and his lungs refused to take in any small amount of oxygen. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. "I-I'm a cosplayer!"

Annabelle raised a fairly thick eyebrow at his explanation. "You, the man that takes pictures of Spider-Man for the paper, also cosplay as him?"

Peter gulped. "... M-My pictures aren't real. They're actually just me...dressed as Spider-Man. It's not really him."

Peter realised that this was the stupidest excuse that he had ever made, but he was so anxious that it was the only thing that he could think of. This was a nightmare, one that always repeated itself with the people he cared about most. His alter ego had been revealed, unwillingly, to Gwen, MJ, Harry, and he was desperately hoping that Annabelle wouldn't be added to that list. It never ended well. The danger of that knowledge was too much for anyone to handle, as much as they might try.

"Really?" Annabelle finally replied. It was clear that she didn't believe him. "That costume's a little too good for a cosplay..."

"I...got it made by the same guy that does Spider-Man's." Peter regretted these words as soon as they escaped his throat. No one would believe such a ridiculous fabrication.

"Spider-Man has a guy that makes his costumes?"

Peter could feel his entire body trembling at the disbelief in her tone, but he still forced himself to respond. "Yeah...you didn't know that? Everyone has a guy."

Annabelle crossed her arms in obvious scepticism then shifted a little closer. "Can I take another look at the costume?"

Nerves jolted through Peter's body like adrenaline. Belle reached for his shirt again, but as he tried to block her hand from revealing his secret once more, he accidentally knocked the shooter on his arm and a string of web fluid attached itself to the back wall.

Peter almost passed out at the intensifying panic that ensued. "I...can explain that."

Annabelle blinked at the rope-like web that was now stuck to her neon wall. The stark whiteness of it complimented the paint quite well. She took a mental note to keep it there, but also reminded herself that now wasn't the time to think about interior decorating. "Okay. Explain."

"Uhh...the guy that made the suit was r-really thorough. I told him I didn't need these, but he m-made them anyway."

"Uh-Huh." Belle almost looked amused by Peter's scrambled story, and maybe she was. After all, anyone could admit that his excuses were absolutely ridiculous under any and all circumstances.

"I swear!" Peter sounded desperate now. Every word was like a plea to the gods for help. "I'm t-telling the truth..."

There was a heady silence. One that shook Peter to his core. Then, finally, Annabelle shrugged. "Okay, I believe you."

"Y-You do?" Peter stammered, trying not to sound too surprised by her complete dismissal of any evidence that lurked in front of her.

"Yeah. If you say that you're a cosplayer, then that's what you are."

Peter dared to meet her gaze, and that's when he noticed the slight shimmer in her eyes. She didn't believe him at all, that much was obvious, but she also didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. Admittedly, Peter was a little confused by this reaction. People were always so eager when they found out...or angry...or upset. Annabelle, however, didn't seem to care very much at all. It was like the possibility of him being Spider-Man was only a speck in her universe - completely unimportant in every single way.

"Do you have a mask?" Belle asked with a mischievous grin.

Though admittedly bewildered by this question, Peter nodded. "Y-Yeah...why?"

Annabelle chuckled at his clueless innocence and pushed his shirt aside again to reveal the spider symbol below it. Her hands roamed his chest - drawing occasional circles and prisms with her index finger over the red fabric. "Everything's more fun with costumes."


	30. Thirty

**_Chapter Thirty: The Fantastic Six_**

Word of advice. Don't hang out with the Fantastic Four. Because chances are, if you did, you'd end up having to fight off aliens from an alternate universe whose bodies are affected by our laws of physics in screwy and loopy ways...as our Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man had found just now.

Peter punched this lime-green alien guy in the face as it stood on an upside-down hoverboard. The whole invading alien squad were held upside-down by upside-down hoverboards, upside-down boat things, and upside-down jetpacks. Spidey watched the alien fly backwards due to the might of his punch, and gradually fall upwards into the sky. The thing shrieked and dribbled like one of those terrifying screaming goats. And yes, the dribble fell upwards as well.

"Uh. Reed. This is weird." Peter muttered, fighting back the urge to vomit into his mask. Hangovers were not fun, even if you were Spider-Man. Especially if you had to fight aliens that day.

Mister Fantastic, brilliant scientist by the name of Reed Richards, slapped a couple of the aliens away with his stretchy-ass hands. He weaved in and out of the attacking upside-down extra-terrestrials who were also firing off beams of hard-light after him. Reed bounced from enemy to enemy as the battle raged far above the ground. He shouted to Peter, "These beings, the Polarites, seem to be repulsed by gravitational forces. They're being pushed away by Earth's gravity instead of being drawn in...! Quite fascinating. As you'd remember if you actually attended your college lectures, our laws of physics don't necessarily apply to other universes."

Spidey pulled himself through the air and slammed into another alien, who dropped his hard-light gun. It, like the dude who had the misfortune of being punched in the face by the Spectacular Spider-Man, arced up into the blue sky.

"Thanks for that. Shouldn't we try to catch them before they, I dunno...fall out of Earth's atmosphere?" The wall-crawler asked as he dodged some incoming energy blasts.

The Invisible Woman, who was seated in the incredible Fantasticar zooming about in the air, projected several force bubbles around Spidey, protecting him from the incoming attacks as she answered, "Their vehicles seem to automatically home in on their riders whenever they're thrown free. They'll be back soon enough."

The Fantasticar is a thing. And contrary to popular belief, it wasn't actually a car. It was like a flying car, I guess. It was a flying car spaceship thing with four seats in it. Of course it had four seats. What do you think this is? You think the Fantastic Four would have a car with five seats in it? That doesn't make any sense.

"Well, ain't that convenient?" Growled an orange, rocky Thing as it punched a giant upside-down spaceship. He stood on the nearby rooftop of a skyscraper, beating down on any Polarite stupid enough to get close. "What's tha plan, Stretch? We gonna dance with these topsy-turvy tosspots all day or are we gonna send 'em back where they came from?"

Johnny Storm blazed a path through the chaos, taking a second to relish the sight of Spider-Man being drenched in alien dribble. "I dunno Ben. This is kinda fun." He quipped, flinging a fireball at a crowd of slobbering Polarites.

"Oh God, it's dripping up." Peter cried, flinging his arms about like one of those inflatable wavy dudes that every single used-car dealership in the world seems to own.

Reed's voice called through the noise, "I made some adjustments to the device that resulted in their accidental arrival here. It can now induce a singularity leading back to their universe and keep it stable long enough for us to clean this all up. It needs to charge for a moment longer."

Peter's eyes widened in shock, allowing him to be socked in the face by a Polarite's punch. Surprisingly, an upside-down punch feels exactly like a normal punch. Who'd have known? "Hold the phone; a singularity?! Wouldn't that destroy the entire planet?"

The webhead roundhouse kicked his attacker in the throat, swung free of several other incoming hard light projectiles, and instantly regretted his acrobatic actions when he felt his stomach gargling.

"Well...under normal circumstances, yes. However, this singularity is going to be operating under their physical laws; it'll pull them in, and push us away." Reed explained further.

"Oh, of course. Silly me." Spidey sighed.

Science was his thing. Ask anybody. But this wasn't really the science you'd learn about in college or high school. This was weird frontier stuff. Reed Richards was on a whole different level when it came to theoretical physics. Well to everyone else it was theoretical, but to the Fantastic Four, they'd experienced most of it already.

We now return to Marvel's First Family, the Fantastic Four, joined by the Incredibly Hungover Spider-Man as they drive back the ruthless, uncoordinated onslaught of the blood-crazed Polarite rage lords, who are usually actually quite polite and engage in frequent trust-building yoga exercises.

Peter managed to hurl himself onto the Fantasticar, sticking to its underside in order to give himself a chance to breathe for a minute. "Good job Peter. You're totally not embarrassing yourself in front of Reed Richards right now." He whispered pathetically to himself. "Just...drink the vomit again before it leaves your throat."

"Not looking so Amazing today, bro." Chimed Johnny, who matched the Fantasticar's speed as he shot through the air. He was engulfed by flames, something that Peter would actually like to see him be if he weren't fireproof. "Rough night?" Johnny asked.

The Irritable Spider-Man massaged the bridge of his masked nose as he waved a hand dismissively at the guy. "Leave me alone."

"Dude. You're so hungover. Didn't even know you drank."

"J-Just...shut up for a sec. I can't even hear myself think..."

Johnny's brow tightened. "Bro, did you get laid?"

"W-What? N-No! Even if I did, it's none of your business!" Peter hated lying. That was why he was so darn bad at it.

The Human Torch squinted vigorously. "I have a sixth sense when it comes to this stuff, man. You totally got laid."

Eventually, the voice of a very reasonable woman cracked through the banter. "Uh, boys? Alien incursion here? Care to contribute?"

"Peter's hungover, Sue. And had sex with someone." Johnny answered.

Peter hissed like a snake that had just been stepped on at the mention of his personal life. "Dude...!"

"Johnny, stop being a dick and shoot these Polarites." Sue snapped like an angry mother.

"Alright, alright, geez..." Johnny groaned, breaking off and intercepting a handful of Polarite marauders.

This left Peter in blissful solitude as he wrangled the overwhelming urge to lose what little he had for breakfast. He muttered to himself, "Looks like they have it under control, Peter. Maybe just...sit here for a bit so you can talk to yourself like a drugged-up lunatic."

"Are you alright down there?" Sue called, very obviously able to hear every single word he had just said.

Peter climbed up the side of the Fantasticar, tumbled into one of its remaining three seats, sprawled across it like a corpse, and groaned heavily. "Am I dying? Is this what dying feels like?"

Sue shook her head with a smile as she blasted some incoming Polarites with energy projections. "I happen to know a remedy for this kind of thing. As soon as we're done here, you're coming home with us."

Peter might've been happy to pay another visit to the FF's personal headquarters, the Baxter Building, if he were conscious enough to comprehend what the hell was going on.

Meanwhile, Mister Fantastic slammed a button on a handheld device that he...well...held in his hand, and with a shrill snap, crackle, and pop, a hole was torn in the very fabric of our universe. The majority of the snarling Polarites, standing by on the deck of their warship, were sucked into the throbbing, shapeless singularity. About five remained, managing to pull free of the whacked out reverse gravity with help from their hoverboards.

Sue cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "Honey, you missed a couple!"

"Sorry, sweetheart! They seemed to have plotted an orbital trajectory, thus escaping a direct intercept with the tear...all we need to do is decay their vectors."

Ben Grimm laughed as he clenched his fists. "Why didn't ya say so? Leave it ta me!" The Thing launched into the air and swung his gigantic arms outward, ploughing into three Polarites at once. The alien beings were thrown into the dimensional tear as Ben landed once again on the skyscraper.

Johnny snapped, "You're not meant to understand any of that. We're both meant to be the stupid ones."

"Watch yer mouth, kid. I used ta be an astronaut. Kinda needed ta know a little physics for that. The only stupid I'm seeing around 'ere is on fire."

"Just tell me what Reed wanted us to do, rocks for brains."

"Punch them towards the space-time hole." Peter moaned from the back-seat of the Fantasticar.

With a shrug, the Human Torch smirked. "Okay. I can do that." Johnny and Ben both leapt into action against the remaining Polarites as Reed continued fiddling with his doodad in order to sustain the portal.

A shrill voice suddenly bombarded Peter's ears, causing his brain to vibrate within his skull. "Oh my God it's Mister Incredible!"

Spider-Man shrieked like one of those terrifying screaming goats, rolled off the seat and tumbled onto the floor. Sitting right next to him was none other than Protonslaught.

"...It's Fantastic." Sue corrected, trying to be polite despite the fact that a stranger just appeared on the back-seat of her flying car.

"I know, right? And you're Elasti-Girl!"

Peter finally managed to pick himself up from the floor as he said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Protonslaught cocked her head. "Alien invasion." She whistled, pointing at the Polarites.

"Since when do you do alien invasions?"

"Since now, asshat."

Sue cocked her head as she continued steering the Fantasticar through the mess of Polarite hover surfers. "I don't think I've met this new lady friend of yours, Spider-Man." She quickly glanced over her shoulder at Protonslaught with a sweet smile. "Hi. Susan Richards."

"I'm Protonslaught."

Sue's face twitched as she turned back to the front. "Isn't that...lovely?"

Protonslaught leaned over the edge of the vehicle and gazed downward at Ben Grimm, who was throwing debris at some hostile aliens. "Ew, what the hell is that thing?"

"Aw Ben, she knows your name!" Johnny quipped.

Grimm snarled. "Yer gonna have ta do better than that, matchstick. I've heard it all at this point."

Protonslaught leapt into the air, floating like a little blue bird as she zipped over to Ben and Johnny who were attempting to wrangle the last few Polarites. "Oh yeah, sticks and stones, am I right?! Am I right?!"

Johnny cackled in response. "Man, do I love a girl with a sense of humour!"

"You love any girls, Johnny. Especially tha ones who need a couple more brain cells." Grimm said, shaking his head.

Protonslaught slammed into a Polarite soldier, clutching it by the wrists. Suddenly, both beings vibrated quite intensely...then fell downward, towards the Earth. The woman managed to catch herself in a hover. The Polarite though, landed face-first on the skyscraper by Ben's feet. He slowly pushed to his feet, peering up at the sky like a lost puppy.

"Incredible...you've inverted his atomic properties...forced his body to conform to our universal laws of physics!" Reed proclaimed.

Upon seeing this strange phenomenon, the other Polarites froze in mid-air. They looked at each other, then back at their grounded friend. Seconds later, they all whizzed into the dimensional tear quite willingly. The remaining Polarite screeched at the sky like an angry chimp before he was knocked unconscious by a swift 'bonk' on the head by Ben.

"Is that...is that good?" Protonslaught mused.

"It is for us." Ben grunted, hauling the terrified alien over his shoulder. "Not so much for him. His little noggin's still tryin' to acclimate to his new point of view, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

"You didn't happen to do this...on purpose?" Reed asked with a curious expression on his face as everyone landed atop the nearby skyscraper to avoid having a conversation across a few dozen feet.

Protonslaught shrugged and nodded confidently. "Yeah. Yeah, of course it was on purpose. I wasn't just...trying to kick him in the balls or anything."

Mister Fantastic strolled over to Sue, who had disembarked from the Fantasticar. Reed wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder as he cocked his head at Protonslaught. "Then you wouldn't have any problems with returning him to his original state, correct?"

Protonslaught hesitated. And at that point, Spider-Man popped up from the backseat of the Fantasticar to mutter aloud, "Reed, she doesn't even know who Stephen Hawking is."

"Oh shut up, jizz-hands man. I know him. Stephen Hawking's Pro Skater 4 is my favourite PS2 game, idiot." She snapped back.

Johnny spent the whole time just checking her out, uncharacteristically not really saying anything at all. However, if he had actually been paying a shred of attention, he would have been glad to know that someone else had also gotten Tony Hawk and Stephen Hawking mixed up.

Reed nodded slowly, denoting his confusion. "Right...so a visit to my lab, it is."


	31. Thirty-One

**_Chapter Thirty-One: Sausage Fest_**

"Your hypothesis seems to be correct, Spider-Man." Reed said as he peered at a nearby computer screen. "Your friend is able to modify not only their own atomic and molecular properties through thought, but that of other objects in physical contact."

Peter sat in an office chair by the screen with a plate of sausages, scrambled eggs, and toast in his lap. In his hand was a bottle of water, because kids, drinking fluids and a hearty breakfast helps combat that nasty hangover. "I never thought she could influence other organic lifeforms. This is...pretty crazy." He said before folding his mask up over his mouth and filling it with delicious food.

Protonslaught awkwardly stood in the centre of the lab, electrodes and wires stuck to her body. "Uh...yeah. I knew that. Hey, I would've thought that you two would be on a first name basis."

Reed rubbed his chin, clearly going over the test results once more as he humoured his guest. "We are. Spider-Man is just a little...protective of his personal information."

"Oh. He doesn't trust me, is that what this is?" Protonslaught jabbed.

Peter, with a mouth full of eggs and sausage, mumbled, "That's exactly what this is."

Seemingly fed up with having to stand in one spot for the last ten minutes, Protonslaught ripped the electrodes off her body and waltzed over to Spidey, who was devouring his breakfast.

"Hey Mister Incredible, why don't you get your wife to cook me some of that?" Protonslaught snapped at Reed.

Mister Fantastic chuckled as he tapped away on the computer. Suddenly, Susan Richards emerged from behind a microscope with a blood sample from Protonslaught. "I don't do the cooking, sweetheart. Wouldn't taste very good if I did."

"Oh, stop that. I love your cooking." Reed insisted. As she came by, he gave her a peck on the cheek.

Protonslaught shuddered at the sight, much like how Sideshow Bob did whenever he stepped on those rakes.

"Anyway, Protonslaught, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with your blood; no radiation, no cellular fluctuations." Sue explained. "Your powers aren't negatively affecting you in any way."

With a nod, staring longingly at Peter's plate of breakfast, Protonslaught sighed. "That's actually good to know."

Reed stretched his left arm across the room and pulled a thick textbook off his bookshelf, saying, "But, you'd be able to perform much more efficiently if you understood what exactly you could do. Physics 101." He retracted his stretchy arm and handed the gigantic book over to her.

"Ugh, you're giving me homework?"

"Captain America is giving you homework. He told me that he'd come after you personally if you don't get yourself under control." Reed warned.

Protonslaught snarled under her breath. "Shit." With that, she snatched the textbook.

Peter was metaphorically drowning in sausage at this point. Wait no, that sounded a little bit misleading. Oh what have I done? I've uncovered a deeply buried desire for gay Peter Parker fan fiction in you, haven't I? Well, it's going to go unanswered because unfortunately, Annabelle Lee does not have a penis.

As he downed the next forkful of juicy meat (stop laughing), he called out to Protonslaught, "You know, I can give you a hand with some of that."

"Yeah. Whatever." She dismissed.

Johnny then entered the room, his Fantastic Four costume replaced with a pair of overly-expensive jeans and no shirt, "Hey Reed, did I miss the science examination thing? I can help if it's one of those touchy kinds of examinations." He said, winking at Protonslaught.

Protonslaught shot him an approving smirk, causing Peter to choke on his breakfast.

Reed rolled his eyes. "Please, Johnny."

"Yeah I don't want to vomit any more than I have to." Spidey pleaded.

With a shrug, Johnny sauntered over to Peter plucked a sausage off his plate, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Peter was about to yell at him for pilfering the glorious rod of seared biological matter that was lying upon his plate, but decided against it seeing as he constantly pinched snacks and energy drinks from Johnny.

With a shake of his head, Reed returned to the original subject of discussion. "Yes, Protonslaught, as we were saying, it would greatly benefit you to consolidate a wider understanding of general physics. With training and determination...well, forgive my bluntness, but you could become one of the most powerful beings on the planet."

Spidey watched as the facetious smirk on Prote's face evaporate. Her eyes widened in an emotion that Peter couldn't quite place. Was it...a slight tinge of fear?

"Stronger than Scarlet Witch? How is that possible?" Johnny said, mouth full.

"I said one of. Besides, Wanda is a mutant and a practitioner of magic. Magic opens up a massive wealth of scientific loopholes that I'd rather not get into. However, there's no sign of genetic mutation in Protonslaught's blood, and seeing as we respect the privacy of others here, Johnny, she doesn't need to explain her abilities to us."

Protonslaught huffed in awe. "A-Am I really that powerful?"

Reed nodded. "You can control atoms and molecules. Atoms and molecules are the building blocks of every single thing in the universe. You have the potential to create...and destroy in equal measure. I believe it's your responsibility to both understand and control this great power."

Peter Parker's ears twitched at the mention of 'great power' and 'responsibility' in the same sentence.

For a moment, he might've actually seen Protonslaught stare seriously into Reed's eyes as if she understood the gravity of the situation...but a bone breaking snap pulsed through the room.

Ben Grimm, also known as The Thing, kicked open the door and bellowed, "WHO WANTS SECONDS?!"

He had a massive apron tied about his rocky body with giant text on it that read 'Stone Cold'. In his hand was a pan that easily could've fried a large child, laden with strips of crackling bacon.

After a few seconds of silence, the smile faded from his face and he hesitantly backed up. "Well...if yer ain't hungry, just tell me, alright?"

"I-I'll have seconds." Peter called timidly.

"Seconds?" Protonslaught huffed, "I haven't even had firsts yet!"

With a rather aggressive stomp of her foot, Protonslaught threw the large textbook onto the floor - earning a mumble of quiet protest from Reed who clearly didn't appreciate the poor treatment she was giving the science book - and rushed towards the ginormous, bacon-smelling pan.

The very next sound that coursed through the building was the loud yelp of the dim-witted science amateur as she burned her fingers trying to pull out a streak of particularly crunchy bacon. It'd be understandable to imagine her gasping 'ouch' and sucking suggestively on her burnt finger like something out of a 1960s Marilyn Monroe movie, but instead she hopped around the room like a dopey rabbit and screamed, "Fuuuuuck!"

To no-one's surprise, Johnny was right by her side only seconds later. He dove his hand into the pan and picked up the exact slice that had scorched Protonslaught's fingertips. "Allow me, love. I can feed it to you too if you like."

Peter choked on a mouthful of buttery toast, "Jesus, could you...not?"

Johnny stretched his hands out on either side of his body as if to say, 'What did I do?', before blowing on the strip of bacon seductively (yes, you can blow on things seductively. Johnny was an expert at blowing things...) and handing it to Protonslaught, "What's the matter, Spidey? Jealous?"

A laugh erupted from Peter's throat. It was so loud, and so boisterous, that he almost forgot how to breath. Luckily, Peter was a scientist, and he knew all about breathing. A lesser man would have laughed themselves to death.

Johnny narrowed his eyes at the arachnid. He almost missed seeing him reeling from a hangover, at least he spoke less, "Oh yeah, you're sweet on that chick that dresses like my grandma."

"She doesn't NOT dress like your-" Peter paused mid-sentence, eyes so wide that they could almost match the design on the mask that still covered his face. "Damn it! I need to get back!"

Peter shovelled the remaining food straight into his mouth and scrambled to hand Ben the empty plate. Sue watched him with very obvious concern, "What's wrong?"

Johnny, as usual, took this opportunity to tease Peter about his absolute hopelessness when it came to women, "Oh, you didn't hear? He got laid last night. Probably left without telling her...absolutely heartless, isn't he?"

Sue struck a glare in her brother's direction. This sounded like a typical night for Johnny...but certainly not for Peter Parker. "Best be heading back then. It's still early, she might not have noticed yet."

"R-Right!" Peter nodded vigorously, as if trying to convince himself of this truth. "Thanks, Sue. I'll come visit later."

He sprinted out of the door like a panicked rhino, bumping into the walls and tripping over his own legs as if he had more than two of them to keep track of. Protonslaught chuckled at his dorky gait and picked up the surprisingly heavy textbook that she had previously thrown. "Yeah...I better get going as well. Thanks for the grub."

She followed the same path that Spider-Man had taken out of the building, the only difference being the distant figure of Johnny Storm - staring through the open door as she left, "Oh, I do love to see a beautiful woman leave."

Sue whacked him over the head unabashedly, "You're a pig, Johnny."

The Human Torch, recovering from the faint headache this violent act enforced upon him, swiped a long piece of streaky bacon from the pan and bit into it, "Oink."


End file.
